THE  MODERN  STUDENT'S  LIBRARY 


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THE    HEART   OF    ^HDLOTHIAN 


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THE  MODERN  STUDENT'S  LIBRAR  Y 


THE 
HEART  OF  MIDLOTHIAN 


BY 

SIR   WALTER   SCOTT,  BART. 


WITH   AN   INTRODUCTION 
BY 

WILLIAM   P.  TRENT,  A.M.,  LL.D. 

PB0FES30B   OF    ENGLiaH    LITEBATOBE,    COLUMBIA    CNIVEBSITY 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

NEW   YORK  CHICAGO  BOSTON 


Copyright,  1918,  bt 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


GIFT 


'!-/ 


f 


INTRODUCTION  ] 

Scott  is  SO  clearl}'  the  best  editor  of  his  own  writings  that 
any  introduction  by  another  hand  to  one  of  his  novels  ought 
to  begin  with  an  apology',  to  be  couched  in  humiUty,  and  to 
be  distinguished  l)y  brevit}'. 

The  Heart  of  Midlothian,  constituting  the  second  series  of 
"Tales  of  My  Landlord,  collected  and  arranged  by  Jede- 
diah  Cleishbotham,  Schoolmaster  and  Parish  Clerk  of 
Gandercleugh,"  was  planned  in  the  autumn  of  1817,  com- 
posed in  the  late  winter  and  the  spring  following,  and  pub- 
lished by  Constable  of  Edinburgh  in  four  volumes  in  June/ 
1818.  During  its  composition  Scott  was  somewhat  troubled 
with  that  painful  stomachic  affliction  successful  resistance 
to  which  was  soon  to  make  the  writing  of  The  Bride  of  Larti^ 
mermoor,  A  Legend  of  Montrose,  and  Ivanhoe  one  of  the  most 
heroic  achievements  in  the  annals  of  literature;  but  hia 
mind  must  have  been  relieved  of  much  financial  anxiety 
through  the  advantageous  negotiations  for  the  publication; 
of  the  new  novel  and  through  his  ability'  in  consequence  to 
discharge  his  debt  to  the  Duke  of  Bucclcuch.  Such  ai 
patriot  must  also  have  felt  great  gratification  at  his  shares 
in  the  discovery  of  the  ancient  Regalia  of  Scotland,  whicli 
took  place  early  in  February,  1818;  hence  it  seems  per^ 
missible  to  conclude  that  he  came  to  the  writing  of  whatj 
many  persons  regard  as  his  masterpiece  in  a  projntious  statej 
of  mind.  His  age — he  was  in  his  forty-seventh  year — ^ 
warrants  the  inference  that  he  was  at  the  height  of  his  powers. 

Scott  himself  api)ears  by  Jan.  14,  181 S,  to  have  felt  thati 
he  was  on  the  eve  of  a  great  accomplishment.  He  wrotd 
on  that  (late  to  Mr.  Morritt,  despite  the  succe.ss  of  Roh  Royj 
that  he  had  "two  stories  on  the  anvil,  far  superior  to  that 
novel  in  point  of  interest."     If  he  meant  by  "interest"  pro-' 

M886800  I 


vi  INTRODUCTION 

found  numan  appeal,  not  a  few  persons  will  agree  with  him 
that  The  Heart  of  Midlothian  and  The  Bride  of  Lammermoor 
surpass  Rob  Roy,  even  though  that  presents  the  characters 
of  Die  Vernon  and  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvie.  Rob  Roy  is  indeed 
superb,  but  in  the  stories  that  immediately  followed  it  Scott 
struck  deeper  chords — in  the  one,  of  sympathy  with  suffer- 
ing and  of  admiration  for  nobility  of  heart  and  soul;  in  the 
other,  of  compassion  and  awe  in  the  presence  of  true  tragedy. 
He  gave  the  world  more  reason  to  wonder — though  he,  mod- 
est man,  would  never  listen  to  such  high  praise — whether 
he  was  not  a  close  prose  relation,  so  to  speak,  of  Homer  and 
Shakespeare. 

Whatever  the  sophisticated  public  of  1918  may  think  on' 
this  point,  there  is  no  doubt  what  the  general  public  that 
read  books  in  1818  thought  about  the  latest  "Waverley" 
novel.  Lockhart  heard  the  proof  sheets  of  Jeanie  Deans's 
interview  with  Queen  Caroline  read  at  James  Ballantyne's 
convivial  table,  and  testified  that  its  effect  "was  deep  and 
memorable."  Writing  from  England  a  letter  which,  as 
Andrew  Lang  well  said  "really  exhausts  what  criticism  can 
find  to  say  about  Scott.'s  new  story,"  Lady  Louisa  Stuart 
declared  that,  in  the  great  country  house  where  she  was, 
everybody  was  "teasing  it  out  of  each  other's  hands,  and 
talking  of  nothing  else."  Doubtless  these  enthusiasts  felt 
with  Lady  Louisa  that  the  Edinburgh  lawyers  in  the  intro- 
duction were  somewhat  tiresome,  but  who  among  them  can 
have  failed  to  pardon  "the  Great  Unknown"  in  view  of  his 
success,  in  Lady  Louisa's  words,  "in  having  effected  what 
many  have  tried  to  do,  and  nobody  3^et  succeeded  in,  making 
the  perfectly  good  character  the  most  interesting"?  After 
the  lapse  of  a  century  this  achievement  appears  to  be  quite 
as  extraordinary  as  it  did  to  the  brilliant  woman  of  1818, 
and  in  it  we  have  perhaps  the  chief  ground  for  believing  that 
a  century  hence  The  Heart  of  Midlothian  will  still  find  readers 
disposed  to  rank  it  as  Scott's  masterpiece  and  as  one  of  the 
most  impressive  books  in  the  world's  literature.  Scott  had 
moreover  given  good  measure,  for  in  Madge  Wildfire  he  had 
/<    depicted  madness  with  a  power  suggestive  of  Shakespeare. 

The  creator  of  Jeanie  Deans  was  doubtless  delighted  with 


INTRODUCTION  vii 

the  reception  of  his  new  novel  in  England,  but  the  applause 
of  his  native  Scotland  must  have  meant  more  to  him.  Lock- 
hart  described  the  publication  f)f  the  book  in  Edinburgh 
as  resulting  in  "a  scene  of  all-engrossing  enthusiasm,  such 
as  I  have  never  witnessed  there  on  the  appearance  of  any 
other  literary  novelty,"  and  he  added  that  "the  admiration 
and  delight  were  the  same  all  over  Scotland."  In  account- 
ing for  this  Lockhart  pointed  to  the  obviously  meritorious 
features  of  the  story,  but  he  omitted  an  important  fact 
which  has  been  properly  emphasized  by  Andrew  Lang. 
Latter-day  readers  are  probably  to  be  found  who  tire  of  some 
of  the  Cameronian  utterances  of  Douce  Davie  Deans  quite 
as  much  as  they  do  of  the  wordiness  of  Mr.  Bartoline  Saddle- 
tree or  of  the  jargon  of  the  Edinburgh  lawyers.  But  Douce 
Davie's  essentially  fine  character  appealed  specially  to  his 
cc)untr>Tnen  of  1818  because  it  threw  a  pleasanter  light 
ujxjn  the  Covenanters  than  had  been  thrown  by  Scott  in  Old 
Mortality.  Notwithstanding  the  high  merits  of  that  book, 
which  seems  to  some  to  represent  the  zenith  of  its  author's 
powers,  its  treatment  of  the  Covenanters  had  led  to  acri- 
monious controversy.  Now,  however,  in  The  Heart  of 
Midlothian  Scotland's  greatest  author  had  shown  himself 
to  be  "more  friendly  to  the  True  Blue  Presbyterians,"  and 
he  had  presented  such  attractive  Scotch  characters,  given 
'-uch  vivid  pictures  of  an  interesting  period  of  the  nation's 
history,  and  shown  himself  to  be  so  loyal  a  citizen  of  "Auld 
Reekie"  that  captiousness  would  have  been  indecent.  At 
home,  then,  as  well  as  abroad,  the  splendidly  humane  quali- 
ties of  Scott  appealed  through  The  Heart  of  Midlothian  to 
the  l)est  that  wa."^  in  his  readers,  and  those  whose  narrow  sus- 
ceptibilities had  been  hurt  b}^  him  and  those  who  were  be- 
giiuiing,  according  to  Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  to  say  that  "the 
author  would  wear  himself  out"  joined  with  his  unwavering 
admirers  to  acclaim  his  triumph. 

Slu'ill  we  of  this,  the  book's  centennial  year,  join  our  voices 
with  theirs,  thus  maintaining  a  slender  link  with  that  piust 
from  which  the  jarring  present  seems  bent  on  breaking? 
This  question  is  perhaps  best  answered  by  another:  Can 
we  afford  not  to  do  so?     The  human  heart  has  remained 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

essentially  the  same  throughout  the  ages,  and  what  has 
once  profoundly  appealed  to  it  will  stir  it  again  and  yet  again, 
provided  we  are  qualified  to  recognize  superficial  influences 
upon  judgment  and  taste  for  what  they  really  are— matters 
worthy  of  being  noted,  but  not  of  being  regarded  as  vital. 
Scott  in  The  Heart  of  Midlothian  shows  himself  to  be  no 
master  of  construction,  his  style  seems  somewhat  overlei- 
surely  and  occasionally  a  bit  slovenly,  some  of  his  scenes 
and  characters  verge  upon  or  pass  into  the  melodramatic, 
and  at  both  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  his  story,  to  put  it 
mildlj^,  he  runs  the  risk  of  being  considered  wearisome.  Are 
these  superficial  matters?  Not  if  one  is  deeply  concerned 
with  the  fortunes  of  the  art  of  fiction,  or  if  one  is  criticising 
the  work  of  a  contemporary  who  has  had  a  chance  to  profit 
from  the  advance  made  by  that  art  during  the  hundred  years 
that  gave  us  the  work  of  such  masters  as  Balzac,  Thackeray, 
and  Turgenev.  But  surely  superficial  if  one's  chief  con- 
cern is  to  get  at  the  heart  of  a  book  and  a  man  that  have 
meant  much,  verj^  much  to  men  and  women  who  have  pre- 
ceded us  upon  life's  tangled  paths,  where  all  that  may  whole- 
somely stimulate  our  powers  should  be,  not  perfunctorily 
accepted,  but  eagerly  reached  out  for  and  utilized  with  grati- 
tude. 

That  Scott  and  The  Heart  of  Midlothian  have  meant  much 
to  thousands  and  still  mean  much  needs  no  proof;  hence, 
if  the  point  of  view  just  suggested  be  adopted,  readers  who 
are  as  yet  unacquainted  with  the  man  and  this  product  of 
his  mature  genius  would  seem  well  advisea  to  turn  at  once  to 
the  story  and  after  that  to  the  pages  of  Lockhart's  biography. 
Those  who  knowdng  author  and  book  alread}^  do  not  care 
for  them  will  scarcely  have  their  opinions  changed  by  an 
introduction  long  or  short — especially  if  they  are  included 
in  the  amiable  class  of  persons  who  regard  Scott  as  primarily 
an  author  for  young  people,  and  such  a  relegation  as  speak- 
ing for  itself.  Time  was  when,  disguise  themselves  as  they 
would,  the  gait  of  the  immortals  betra^^ed  them.  Now- 
adays eyes  seem  to  be  less  sharp,  or  perhaps  we  are  losing 
our  belief  in  any  immortals,  or  else  we  insist  upon  recogniz- 
ing only  such  as  present  themselves  in  strictly  contemporane- 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

ous  garb.  Ehen  fugaccs!  Ever  since  that  dinner  at  James 
Ballantyne's  in  the  spring  of  1818  there  have  been  at  least 
a  few  people  who  have  thought  that  the  scene  in  which  Jeanie 
Deans,  aided  by  the  Duke  of  Argyle  indeed,  but  in  the  last 
analysis  chiefly  by  her  own  simple  dignity  of  character,  se- 
cured the  pardon  of  her  frail  sister  Efhe  from  the  politic  but 
t^till  humane  Queen  puts  Scott  among  the  immortals,  puts 
him  for  a  moment  almost  with  the  consummate  genius 
who  in  the  parting  of  Hector  with  Andromache  and  Asty- 
anax  made  art  one  with  nature  and  remains  in  consequence 
after  the  lapse  of  centur>'  upon  century  the  supreme  poet  of 
mankind.  Have  those  people  been  mistaken?  Even  if 
The  Heart  of  Midlothian  be  not  a  great  novel  in  the  sense 
of  a  perfectly  constructed  and  executed  work  of  fiction,  is 
it  not  a  great  book  in  the  sense  that  it  is  a  nobl}'  moving 
human  document?  At  least  one  person,  perhaps  a  woman, 
has  answered  these  questions  in  the  affirmative,  the  anony- 
mous author  of  the  following  little  known  lines,  which,  if 
the  date  of  the  novel  permitted,  might,  on  account  of  their 
old-fashioned  flavor,  their  total  freedom  from  new-fangled 
sophistication,  be  referred  to  the  Napoleonic  period — which, 
if  they  are  of  American  provenance,  may  provisionally 
be  referred  to  the  period  of  our  Civil  War: — 

"When,  Jeanie  Deans,  I  see  you  stand 
Before  the  Queen  of  all  the  land, 
And  bring  your  purposes  to  pass, 
A  simple,  homely  Scottish  lass, 
I  glorj'  in  the  human  he'art 
Illumined  by  Sir  Walter's  art. 

"And  though  the  kindly  days  seem  dead, 
Thoufih  hlcKxl  o'er  all,  like  dew,  is  shed. 
Though  even  women  now  make  death 
Their  sport,  and  hate  their  shibboleth, 
I  still  to  riiy  own  heart  am  true, 
When,  Jeanie  Deans,  I  think  of  you." 


THE   HEART   OF  MID-LOTHIAN 


Hear,  Land  o'  Cakes  and  brither  Scots, 
Frae  Maidenkirk  to  Johnny  Groat's, 
If  there's  a   hole   in  a'  your  coats, 

I  rede  ye  tent  it: 
A  chiel's  amang  you  takin'  notes. 

And,  faith,   he'll  prent  it! 

Burns. 


Ahora  hien,  dixo  il  Cura,  traedme,  senor  huesped,  aquesos  libros,  que 
los  quiero  ver.  Que  me  place,  respondio  el,  y  entrando,  en  su  aposento, 
saco  del  una  maletilla  vieja  cerrada  con  una  cadenilla,  y  abriendola, 
hallo  en  ella  tres  libros  grandes  y  unos  papeles  de  muy  huena  letra 
escritos  de  mano. — Don  Quixote,  Parte  I.     Capitulo  32. 

It  is  mighty  well,  said  the  priest;  pray,  landlord,  bring  me  those 
bookSj  for  I  have  a  mind  to  see  them.  With  all  my  heart,  answered 
the  host;  and  going  to  his  chamber,  he  brought  out  a  little  old  cloke- 
bag,  with  a  padlock  and  chain  to  it,  and  opening  it,  he  took  out  three 
large  volumes,  and  some  manuscript  papers  written  in  a  fine  character. 
— jARyis's  Translation. 


INTRODUCTION 

The  author  has  stated  in  the  preface  to  the  Chronicles  of 
the  Canongate,  1827,  that  he  received  from  an  anonymous 
correspondent  an  account  of  the  incident  upon  which  the 
following  story  is  founded.  He  is  now  at  liberty  to  say, 
that  the  information  was  conveyed  to  him  by  a  late 
amiable  and  ingenious  lady,  whose  wit  and  power  of  re- 
marking and  judging  of  character  still  survive  in  the 
memory  of  her  friends.  Her  maiden  name  was  Miss 
Helen  Lawson,  of  Girthhead,  and  she  was  wife  of  Thomas 
Goldie,  Esq.,  of  Craigmuie,  Commissary  of  Dumfries. 

Her  communication  was   in   these  words: 

"I  had  taken  for  summer  lodgings  a  cottage  near  the 
old  Abbey  of  Lincluden.  It  had  formerly  been  inhabited 
by  a  lady  who  had  pleasure  in  embellishing  cottages, 
which  she  found  perhaps  homely  and  even  poor  enough; 
mine  therefore  possessed  many  marks  of  taste  and  ele- 
gance unusual  in  this  species  of  habitation  in  Scotland, 
where  a  cottage  is  literally  what  its  name  declares. 

"From  my  cottage  door  I  had  a  partial  view  of  the  old 
Abbey  before  mentioned;  some  of  the  highest  arches  were 
seen  over,  and  some  through,  the  trees  scattered  along  a 
lane  which  led  down  to  the  ruin,  and  the  strange  fantastic 
shapes  of  almost  all  those  old  ashes  accorded  wonderfully 
well  with  the  building  they  at  once  shaded  and  orna- 
mented. 

''The  Abbey  itself  from  my  door  was  almost  on  a  level 
with  the  cottage;  but  on  coming  to  the  end  of  the  lane,  it 
was  discovered  to  be  situated  on  a  high  peri)endicular 
bank,  at  the  foot  of  which  run  the  clear  waters  of  the 
Cluden,  where  they  hasten  to  join  the  sweeping  Xith, 

*\Miose  distant  roaring  swells  and  fa's.* 

As  my  kitchen  and  parlor  were  not  very  far  distant,  I 
one  day  went  in  to  purchase  some  chickens  from  a  person 
I  heard  offering  them  for  sale.     It  was  a  little,   rather 

3 


4  INTEODUCTION   TO 

stout-looking  woman,  who  seemed  to  be  between  seventy 
and  eighty  years  of  age;  she  was  almost  covered  with  a 
tartan  plaid,  and  her  cap  had  over  it  a  black  silk  hood, 
tied  under  the  chin,  a  piece  of  dress  still  much  in  use 
among  elderly  women  of  that  rank  of  life  in  Scotland; 
her  eyes  were  dark,  and  remarkably  lively  and  intelligent; 
I  entered  into  conversation  with  her,  and  began  by  asking 
how  she  maintained  herself,  etc. 

"She  said  that  in  winter  she  footed  stockings,  that  is, 
knit  feet  to  countrypeople's  stockings,  which  bears  about 
the  same  relation  to  stocking-knitting  that  cobbling  does 
to  shoemaking,  and  is  of  course  both  less  profitable  and 
less  dignified;  she  likewise  taught  a  few  children  to  read, 
and  in  summer  she  whiles  reared  a  few  chickens. 

"I  said  I  could  venture  to  guess  from  her  face  she  had 
never  been  married.  She  laughed  heartily  at  this,  and 
said,  'I  maun  hae  the  queerest  face  that  ever  was  seen, 
that  ye  could  guess  that.  Now,  do  tell  me,  madam,  how 
ye  cam  to  think  sae  V  I  told  her  it  was  from  her  cheerful 
disengaged  countenance.  She  said,  'Mem,  have  ye  na  far 
mair  reason  to  be  happy  than  me,  wi'  a  gude  husband 
and  a  fine  family  o'  bairns,  and  plenty  o'  everything?  for 
me,  I'm  the  puirest  o'  a'  puir  bodies,  and  can  hardly  con- 
trive to  keep  mysell  alive  in  a'  the  wee  bits  o'  ways  I  hae 
tell't  ye.'  After  some  more  conversation,  during  which 
I  was  more  and  more  pleased  with  the  old  woman's 
sensible  conversation,  and  the  naivete  of  her  remarks,  she 
rose  to  go  away,  when  I  asked  her  name.  Her  counte- 
nance suddenly  clouded,  and  she  said  gravely,  rather 
coloring,  'My  name  is  Helen  Walker;  but  your  husband 
kens  weel  about  me.' 

"In  the  evening  I  related  how  much  I  had  been  pleased, 
and  inquired  what  was  extraordinary  in  the  history  of  the 

poor  woman.     Mr.  said,  there  were  perhaps  few 

more  remarkable  people  than  Helen  Walker.  She  had 
been  left  an  orphan,  with  the  charge  of  a  sister  con- 
siderably younger  than  herself,  and  who  was  educated  and 
maintained  by  her  exertions.  Attached  to  her  by  so  many 
ties,  therefore,  it  will  not  be  easy  to  conceive  her  feelings, 
when  she  found  that  this  only  sister  must  be  tried  by  the 
laws  of  her  country  for  child-murder,  and  upon  being 
called  as  principal  witness  against  her.     The  counsel  for 


THE   HEART    OF   ]^ID-LOTHIAN  5 

the  prisoner  told  Helen,  that  if  she  could  declare  that  her 
sister  had  made  any  i)reparations,  however  slight,  or  had 
given  her  any  intimation  on  the  subject,  that  such  a  state- 
ment would  save  her  sisters  life,  as  she  was  the  principal 
witness  against  her.  Helen  said,  Tt  is  impossible  for  me 
to  swear  to  a  falsehood;  and,  whatever  may  be  the  conse- 
quence, I  will  give  my  oath  according  to  my  conscience.' 

''The  trial  came  on,  and  the  sister  was  found  guilty  and 
condemned;  but,  in  Scotland,  six  weeks  must  elapse  be- 
tween the  sentence  and  the  execution,  and  Helen  Walker 
availed  herself  of  it.  The  very  day  of  her  sister's  con- 
demnation, she  got  a  petition  drawn  up,  stating  the 
peculiar  circumstances  of  the  case,  and  that  very  night 
set  out  on  foot  t-o  London. 

"Without  introduction  or  recommendation,  with  her 
simple  (perhaps  ill-expressed)  petition,  drawn  up  by  some 
inferior  clerk  of  the  court,  she  presented  herself,  in  her 
tartan  plaid  and  country  attire,  to  the  late  Duke  of 
Argyle,  who  immediately  procured  the  pardon  she  peti- 
tioned for,  and  Helen  returned  with  it,  on  foot,  just  in 
time  to  save  her  sister. 

'T  was  so  strongly  interested  by  this  narrative,  that  I 
determined  immediately  to  prosecute  my  acquaintance 
with  Helen  Walker;  but  as  I  was  to  leave  the  country 
next  day,  I  was  obliged  to  defer  it  till  my  return  in  spring, 
when  the  first  walk  1  took  was  to  Helen  Walkers  cottage. 

"She  had  died  a  short  time  before.  My  regret  was 
extreme,  and  I  endeavored  to  obtain  some  account  of 
Helen  from  an  old  woman  who  inhabited  the  other  end 
of  her  cottage.  I  inquired  if  Helen  ever  spoke  of  her  past 
history,  Ker  journey  to  London,  etc.  *Na,'  the  old  woman 
said,  'Helen  was  a  wily  body,  and  whene'er  ony  o'  the 
neebors  asked  anything  about  it,  she  aye  turned  the  con- 
versation.' 

"In  short,  every  answer  I  received  only  tended  to 
increase  my  regret,  and  raise  my  opinion  of  Helen 
Walker,  who  could  unite  so  much  prudence  with  so  much 
heroic  virtue." 

This  narrative  was  enclosed  in  the  following  letter  to 
the  author,  without  date  or  signature: — 

'^SiR^ — The  occurrence  just  related  happened  to  nr^  2''> 


6  INTKODUCTION   TO 

years  ago.  Helen  Walker  lies  buried  in  the  churchyard 
of  Irongray,  about  six  miles  from  Dumfries.  I  once 
proposed  that  a  small  monument  should  have  been  erected 
to  commemorate  so  remarkable  a  character,  but  I  now 
prefer  leaving  it  to  you  to  perpetuate  her  memory  in  a 
more  durable  manner." 

The  reader  is  now  able  to  judge  how  far  the  author  has 
improved  upon,  or  fallen  short  of,  the  pleasing  and  inter- 
esting sketch  of  high  principle  and  steady  affection  dis- 
played by  Helen  Walker,  the  prototype  of  the  fictitious 
Jeanie  Deans,  Mrs.  Goldie  was  unfortunately  dead  be- 
fore the  author  had  given  his  name  to  these  volumes,  so 
he  lost  all  opportunity  of  thanking  that  lady  for  her 
highly  valuable  communication.  But  her  daughter.  Miss 
Goldie,  obliged  him  with  the  following  additional  infor- 
mation. 

"Mrs.  Goldie  endeavored  to  collect  further  particulars 
of  Helen  Walker,  particularly  concerning  her  journey  to 
London,  but  found  this  nearly  impossible;  as  the  natural 
dignity  of  her  character,  and  a  high  sense  of  family  re- 
spectability, made  her  so  indissolubly  connect  her  sister's 
disgrace  with  her  own  exertions,  that  none  of  her  neigh- 
bors durst  ever  question  her  upon  the  subject.  One  old 
woman,  a  distant  relation  of  Helen's,  and  who  is  stiU 
living,  says  she  worked  an  harvest  with  her,  but  that  she 
never  ventured  to  ask  her  about  her  sister's  trial,  or  her 
journey  to  London;  'Helen,'  she  added,  'was  a  lofty  body, 
and  used  a  high  style  o'  language.'  The  same  old  woman 
says,  that  every  year  Helen  received  a  cheese  from  her 
sister,  who  lived  at  Whitehaven,  and  that  she  always 
sent  a  liberal  portion  of  it  to  herself  or  to  her  father's 
family.  This  fact,  though  trivial  in  itself,  strongly  marks 
the  affection  subsisting  between  the  two  sisters,  and  the 
complete  conviction  on  the  mind  of  the  criminal,  that  her 
sister  had  acted  solely  from  high  principle,  not  from  any 
want  of  feeling,  which  another  small  but  characteristic 
trait  will  further  illustrate.  A  gentleman,  a  relation  of 
Mrs.  Goldie's,  who  happened  to  be  travelling  in  the  North 
of  England,  on  coming  to  a  small  inn,  was  shown  into 
the  parlor   by   a   female   servant,   who,   after   cautiously 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  7 

shutting  the  door,  said.  'Sir,  I'm  Xelly  Walker's  sister/ 
Thus  practically  showing  that  she  considered  her  sister  as 
better  kno\\Ti  by  her  high  conduct,  than  even  herself  by  a 
ditTerent  kind  of  celebrity. 

"Mrs.  Goldie  was  extremely  anxious  to  have  a  tomb- 
stone and  an  inscription  upon  it,  erected  in  Irongray 
churchyard;  and  if  Sir  Walter  Scott  will  condescend  to 
write  the  last,  a  little  subscription  could  be  easily  raised 
in  the  immediate  neighborhood,  and  Mrs,  Goldie's  wish 
be  thus  fulfilled." 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add,  that  the  request  of  Miss 
Goldie  will  be  most  willingly  complied  with,  and  with- 
out the  necessity  of  any  tax  on  the  public.  Xor  is  there 
much  occasion  to  repeat  how  much  the  author  conceives 
himself  obliged  to  his  unknown  correspondent,  who  thus 
supplied  him  with  a  theme  atfording  such  a  pleasing  view 
of  the  moral  dignity  of  virtue,  though  unaided  by  birth, 
beauty,  or  talent.  If  the  picture  has  suffered  in  the 
execution,  it  is  from  the  failure  of  the  author's  powers  to 
present  in  detail  the  same  simple  and  striking  portrait,  ex- 
hibited in  Mrs.  Goldie's  letter. 

Abbotsfobd,  April  I,  1830. 


POSTSCRIPT 

Altttot-gii  it  vrould  be  impossible  to  add  much  to  Mrs. 
Goldie's  picluvesque  and  most  interesting  account  of 
Helen  Walker,  the  prototype  of  the  imaginary  Jeanie 
Dean>.  the  Editor  may  be  pardoned  for  introducing  two 
or  three  anecdotes  respecting  that  excellent  person,  which 
he  has  collected  from  a  volume  entitled,  "Sketches  from 
Nature,  by  John  M'Diarmid,"  a  gentleman  who  conducts 
an  able  provincial  paper  in  the  town  of  Dumfries. 

Helen  was  the  daughter  of  a  small  farmer  in  a  place 
called  Dalwhaim,  in  the  parish  of  Irongray;  where,  after 
the  death  of  her  father,  she  continued,  with  the  unassum- 
ing piety  of  a  Scottish  peasant,  to  support  her  mother  by 
her  own  unremitted  labor  and  privations;  a  case  so  com- 
mon, that  even  yet,  I  am  proud  to  say,  few  of  my  country- 
women would  shrink  from  the  duty. 

Helen  Walker  was  held  among  her  equals  pensy,  that  is, 
proud  or  conceited;  but  the  facts  brought  to  prove  this 
accusation  seem  only  to  evince  a  strength  of  character 
superior  to  those  around  her.  Thus  it  was  remarked,  that 
when  it  thundered,  she  went  with  her  work  and  her  Bible 
to  the  front  of  the  cottage,  alleging  that  the  Almighty 
could  smite  in  the  city  as  well  as  in  the  field. 

Mr.  M'Diarmid  mentions  more  particularly  the  mis- 
fortune of  her  sister,  which  he  supposes  to  have  taken 
place  previous  to  1736.  Helen  Walker,  declining  every 
proposal  of  saving  her  relation's  life  at  the  expense  of 
truth,  borrowed  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  for  her  journey, 
walked  the  whole  distance  to  London  barefoot,  and  made 
her  way  to  John  Duke  of  Arg^^le.  She  was  heard  to  say, 
that,  by  the  Almighty's  strength,  she  had  been  enabled 
to  meet  the  Duke  at  the  most  critical  moment,  which,  if 
lost,  would  have  caused  the  inevitable  forfeiture  of  her 
sister's  life. 

Isabella,  or  Tibby  Walker,  saved  from  the  fate  which 

9 


10  POSTSCRIPT 

impended  over  her,  was  married  by  the  person  who  had 
wronged  her  (named  Waugh),  and  lived  happily  for  great 
part  of  a  century,  uniformly  acknowledging  the  extraordi- 
nary affection  to  which  she  owed  her  preservation. 

Helen  Walker  died  about  the  end  of  the  year  1791,  and 
her  remains  are  interred  in  the  churchyard  of  her  native 
parish  of  Irongray,  in  a  romantic  cemetery  on  the  banks 
of  the  Cairn.  That  a  character  so  distinguished  for  her 
undaunted  love  of  virtue,  lived  and  died  in  poverty,  if 
not  want,  serves  only  to  show  us  how  insignificant,  in  the 
sight  of  Heaven,  are  our  principal  objects  of  ambition 
upon  earth. 


TO    THE    BEST    OF    PATRONS 

A  PLEASED  AND  INDULGENT  HEADER 
JEDEDIAH  CLEISHBOTHAM 

WISHES    HEALTH,    AND       INCREASE,    AND    CONTENTMENT 

Courteous  Reader, — If  ingratitude  comprehendeth  every 
vice,  surely  so  foul  a  stain  worst  of  all  beseemeth  him 
whose  life  has  been  devoted  to  instructing  youth  in  virtue 
and  in  humane  letters.  Therefore  have  I  chosen,  in  this 
prolegomenon,  to  unload  my  burden  of  thanks  at  thy  feet, 
for  the  favor  with  which  thou  hast  kindly  entertained  the 
Tales  of  my  Landlord.  Certes,  if  thou  hast  chuckled'over 
their  facetious  and  festivous  descriptions,  or  hast  thy 
mind  filled  with  pleasure  at  the  strange  and  pleasant 
turns  of  fortune  which  they  record,  verily,  I  have  also 
simpered  when  I  beheld  a  second  story  with  attics,  that 
has  arisen  on  the  basis  of  my  small  domicile  at  Gander- 
cleugh,  the  walls  having  been  aforehand  pronounced  by 
Deacon  Barrow  to  be  capable  of  enduring  such  an  eleva- 
tion. Xor  has  it  been  without  delectation,  that  I  have 
endued  a  new  coat  (snuff -brown,  and  with  metal  buttons), 
having  all  nether  garments  corresponding  thereto.  We 
do  therefore  lie,  in  respect  of  each  other,  under  a  recipro- 
cation of  benefits,  whereof  those  received  by  me  being 
the  most  solid  (in  respect  that  a  new  house  and  a  new 
coat  are  better  than  a  new  tale  and  an  old  song),  it  is 
meet  that  my  gratitude  should  be  expressed  with  the 
louder  voice  and  more  preponderating  vehemence.  And 
how  should  it  be  so  expressed? — Certainly  not  in  words 
only,  but  in  act  and  deed.  It  is  with  this  sole  purpose, 
and  disclaiming  all  intention  of  purchasing  that  pen- 
dicle or  poffle  of  land  called  the  Carlinescroft,  lying 
adjacent  to  my  garden,  and  measuring  seven  acres,  three 
roods   and   four  perches,   that  I   have   committed   to   the 

11 


12  PKOLEGOMENON    TO  '  i 

eyes  of  those  who  thought  well  of  the  former  tomes,  these  ' 
four  additional  volumes  of  the  Tales  of  my  Landlord,  j 
Not  the  less,  if  Peter  Prayfort  be  minded  to  sell  the  said  j 
poffle,  it  is  at  his  own  choice  to  say  so ;  and,  peradventure  | 
he  may  meet  with  a  purchaser :  unless  (gentle  reader)  the  i 
pleasing  pourtraictures  of  Peter  Pattieson,  now  given ' 
unto  thee  in  particular,  and  unto  the  public  in  general,  ! 
shall  have  lost  their  favor  in  thine  eyes,  whereof  I  am  ' 
no  way  distrustful.  And  so  much  confidence  do  I  repose  ; 
in  thy  continued  favor,  that,  should  thy  lawful  occasions  i 
call  thee  to  the  town  of  Gandercleugh,  a  place  frequented  \ 
by  most  at  one  time  or  other  in  their  lives,  I  will  enrich  : 
thine  eyes  with  a  sight  of  those  precious  manuscripts  : 
whence  thou  hast  derived  so  much  delectation,  thy  nose  ; 
with  a  snuff  from  my  mull,  and  thy  palate  with  a  dram  j 
from  my  bottle  of  strong  waters,  called,  by  the  learned  of  j 
Gandercleugh,  the  Dominie's  Dribble  o'  Drink.  | 

It  is  there,  O  highly  esteemed  and  beloved  reader,  thou  ' 
wilt  be  able  to  bear  testimony,  through  the  medium  of  \ 
thine  own  senses,  against  the  children  of  vanity,  who  have  | 
sought  to  identify  thy  friend  and  servant  with  I  know  not  j 
wliat  inditer  of  vain  fables ;  who  hath  cumbered  the  world  \ 
with  his  devices,  but  shrunken  from  the  responsibility  i 
thereof.  Truly,  this  hath  been  well  termed  a  generation  ' 
hard  of  faith;  since  what  can  a  man  do  to  assert  his  ; 
property  in  a  printed  tome,  saving  to  put  his  name  in  ■ 
the  title-page  thereof,  with  his  description,  or  designa- 
tion, as  the  lawyers  term  it,  and  place  of  abode  ?  Of  a  i 
surety  I  would  have  such  sceptics  consider  how  they  ( 
themselves  would  brook  to  have  their  works  ascribed  to  : 
others,  their  names  and  professions  imputed  as  forgeries,  : 
and  their  very  existence  brought  into  question;  even  i 
although,  peradventure,  it  may  be  it  is  of  little  conse-  ; 
quence  to  any  but  themselves,  not  only  whether  they  are  ■ 
living  or  dead,  but  even  whether  they  ever  lived  or  no.  i 
Yet  have  my  maligners  carried  their  uncharitable  cen-  j 
sures  still  farther.  i 

These  cavillers  have  not  only  doubted  mine  identity,  ^ 
although  thus  plainly  proved,  but  they  have  impeached  ; 
my  veracity  and  the  authenticity  of  my  historical  narra-  : 
tives!  Verily,  I  can  only  say  in  answer,  that  I  have  been  \ 
cautelous  in  quoting  mine  authorities.     It  is  true,  indeed,  \ 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  13 

that  if  I  had  hearkened  with  only  one  ear,  I  mig-ht  have 
rehearsed  my  tale  with  more  acceptation  from  those  who 
love  to  hear  but  half  the  truth.  It  is,  it  may  hap,  not  alto- 
gether to  the  discredit  of  our  kindly  nation  of  Scotland, 
that  we  are  apt  to  take  an  interest,  warm,  yea  partial,  in. 
the  deeds  and  sentiments  of  our  forefathers.  He  whom 
his  adversaries  describe  as  a  perjured  prelatist,  is  de- 
sirous that  his  predecessors  should  be  held  moderate  in. 
their  power,  and  just  in  their  execution  of  its  privileges, 
when,  truly,  the  unimpassioned  peruser  of  the  Annals  of 
those  times  shall  deem  them  sanguinary,  violent,  and 
tyrannical.  Again,  the  representatives  of  the  suffering 
non-conformists  desire  that  their  ancestors,  the  Came- 
ronians,  shall  be  represented  not  simply  as  honest  en- 
thusiasts, oppressed  for  conscience-sake,  but  persons  o£ 
fine  breeding,  and  valiant  heroes.  Truly,  the  historian 
cannot  gratify  these  predilections.  He  must  needs  de-l 
scribe  the  cavaliers  as  proud  and  high-spirited,  cruelJ 
remorseless,  and  vindictive;  the  suffering  party  as  honor-) 
ably  tenacious  of  their  opinions  under  persecution;  their 
own  tempers  being,  however,  sullen,  fierce,  and  rude;  their 
opinions  absurd  and  extravagant,  and  their  whole  course 
of  conduct  that  of  persons  whom  hellebore  would  better 
have  suited  than  prosecutions  unto  death  for  high-treason. 
Xatheless,  while  such  and  so  preposterous  were  the 
opinions  on  either  side,  they  were,  it  cannot  be  doubted, 
men  of  virtue  and  w^orth  on  both,  to  entitle  either  party 
to  claim  merit  from  its  martyrs.  It  has  been  demanded 
of  me,  Jedediah  Cleishbotham,  by  what  right  I  am  en- 
titled to  constitute  myself  an  impartial  judge  of  their 
discrepancies  of  opinions,  seeing  (as  it  is  stated)  that  I 
must  necessarily  have  descended  from  o'ne  or  other  of  the 
contending  parties,  and  be,  of  course,  wedded  for  better 
or  for  worse,  according  to  the  reasonable  practice  of  Scot- 
land, to  its  dogmata,  or  opinions,  and  bound,  as  it  were, 
by  the  tie  matrimonial,  or,  to  speak  without  metaphor, 
rr  jure  sanguinis,  to  maintain  them  in  preference  to  all 
others. 

But,  nothing  denying  the  nationality  of  all  the  rule, 
which  calls  on  all  now  living  to  rule  their  j)olitical  and 
religious  opinions  by  those  of  their  great-grandfathers, 
and  inevitable  as  seems  the  one  or  the  other  horn  of  the 


14  PEOLEGOMENON    TO 

dilemma  betwixt  whicli  my  adversaries  conceive  they  liave 
pinned  me  to  the  wall,  I  yet  spy  some  means  of  refuge, 
and  claim  a  privilege  to  write  and  speak  of  both  parties 
with  impartiality.  For,  O  ye  powers  of  logic!  when  the 
Prelatists  and  Presbyterians  of  old  times  went  together 
by  the  ears  in  this  unlucky  country,  my  ancestor  (ven-- 
erated  be  his  memory!)  was  one  of  the  people  called 
Quakers,  and  suffered  severe  handling  from  either  side, 
even  to  the  extenuation  of  his  purse  and  the  incarcera- 
tion  of  his  person. 

Craving  thy  pardon,  gentle  Header,  for  these  few  words 
concerning  me  and  mine,  I  rest,  as  above  expressed,  thy 
sure  and  obligated  friend,^  J.  C. 

Gandercleugh,  ) 

this  1st  of  April,  1818.      ]" 

^  It  is  an  old  proverb,  that  "many  a  true  word  is  spoken  in  jest." 
The  existence  of  Walter  Scott,  third  son  of  Sir  William  Scott  of  Harden, 
is  instructed,  as  it  is  calted,  by  a  charter  under  the  great  seal,  Domino 
Willielmo  Scott  de  Harden  Militi,  et  Waltero  Scott  suo  filio  legitimo 
tertio  genito,  terrarum  de  Roberton.*  The  munificent  old  gentleman 
left  all  his  four  sons  considerable  estates,  and  settled  those  of  Eilrig 
and  Raeburn,  together  with  valuable  possessions  around  Lessudden, 
•upon  Walter,  his  third  son,  who  is  ancestor  of  the  Scotts  of  Raeburn, 
and  of  the  Author  of  Waverley.  He  appears  to  have  become  a  con- 
vert to  the  doctrine  of  the  Quakers,  or  Friends,  and  a  great  assertor 
of  their  peculiar  tenets.  This  was  probably  at  the  time  when  George 
JFox,  the  celebrated  apostle  of  the  sect,  made  an  expedition  into  the 
south  of  Scotland  about  1657,  on  which  occasion  he  boasts,  that  "as  he 
first  SQt  his  horse's  feet  upon  Scottish  ground,  he  felt  the  seed  of  grace 
to  sparkle  about  him  like  innum'erable  sparks  of  fire."  Upon  the  same 
occasion,  probably,  Sir  Gideon  Scott  of  Highchester,  second""  son  of 
Sir  William,  immediate  elder  brother  of  Walter,  and  ancestor  of  the 
author's  friend  and  kinsman,  the  present  representative  of  the  family 
of  Harden,  also  embraced  the  tenets  of  Quakerism.  This  last  convert, 
Gideon,  entered  into  a  controversy  with  the  Rev.  James  Kirkton,  author 
of  "The  Secret  and  True  History  of  the  Church  of  Scotland,"  which 
is  noticed  by  my  ingenious  friend  Mr.  Charles  Kirkpatricke  Sharpe,  in 
his  valuable  and  curious  edition  of  that  work,  4to,  1817.  Sir  William 
Scott,  eldest  of  the  brothers,  remained,  amid  the  defection  of  his  two 
younger  brethren,  an  orthodox  member  of  the  Presbyterian  Church, 
and  used  such  means  for  reclaiming  Walter  of  Raeburn  from  his 
heresy,  as  savored  far  more  of  persecution  than  persuasion.  In  this 
he  was  assisted  by  MacDougal  of  Makerston,  brother  to  Isabella  Mac- 
Dougal,  the  wife  of  the  said  Walter,  and  who,  like  her  husband,  had 
con^rmed  to   the  Quaker  tenets. 

The  interest  possessed  by  Sir  William  Scott  and  Makerston  was 
powerful  enough  to  procure  the  two  following  acts  of  the  Privy  Council 
of  Scotland,  directed  against  Walter  of  Raeburn  as  an  heretic  and 
convert  to  Quakerism,  appointing  him  to  be  imprisoned  first  in  Edin- 
burgh jail,  and  then  in  that  of  Tedburgh;  and  his  children  to  be  taken 
by  force  from  the  society  and  direction  of  their  parents,  and  educated 
at   a    distance    from    them,    besides    the    assignment    of   a   sum    for    their 

*  See  Douglas's   Baronage,  page  215. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHTAN  15 

maintenance,   sufficient   in   those  times  to  he  hurdensome  to  a  moderate 
Scottish    estate. 

"Apud  Edin.  zigesimo  Junii  1665. 
"The  Lords  of  his  Majesty's  Privy  Council  having  receaved  informa- 
tion that  Scott  of  Raeburn.  and  Isobel  Mackdougall,  his  wife,  being 
infected  with  the  error  of  Quakerism,  doe  endeavour  to  brrid  and  trains 
up  William,  Walter,  and  Isobel  Scotts,  their  children,  in  the  same 
profession,  doe  therefore  give  order  and  command  to  Sir  William  Scott 
of  Harden,  the  said  Raeburn's  brother,  to  seperat  and  take  away  the 
saids  children  from  the  custody  and  society  of  the  saids  parents,  and  to 
cause  educat  and  bring  them  up  in  his  owne  house,  or  any  other  con- 
venient place,  and  ordaines  letters  to  be  direct  at  the  said  Sir  William's 
instance  against  Raeburn,  for  a  maintenance  to  the  saids  children,  and 
that  the  said  Sir  Wm.  give  ane  account  of  his  diligence  with  all  con- 
veniency." 

"Edinburgh,   5th  July   1666.   . 

"Anent  a  petition  presented  be  Sir  Wm.  Scott  of  Harden,  for  him- 
self and  in  name  and  behalf  of  the  three  children  of  Walter  Scott  of 
Raeburn,  nis  brother,  showing  that  the  Lords  of  Councill,  by  ane  act  of 
the  22nd  day  of  Junii  1665,  did  grant  power  and  warrand  to  the  peti- 
tioner, to  seperat  and  take  away  Raeburn's  children,  from  his  family 
and  education,  and  to  breed  them  in  some  convenient  place,  where  they 
might  be  free  from  all  infection  in  their  younger  years,  from  the 
principals  of  Quakerism,  and,  for  maintenance  of  the  saids  children, 
did  ordain  letters  to  be  direct  against  Raeburn;  and,  seeing  the  Peti- 
tioner, in  obedience  to  the  said  order,  did  take  away  the  saids  children, 
being  two  sonnes  and  a  daughter,  and  after  some  paines  taken  upon 
them  in  his  owne  family,  hes  sent  them  to  the  city  of  Glasgow,  to  be 
bread  at  schooles,  and  there  to  be  principled  with  the  knowledge  of  the 
true  religion,  and  that  it  is  necessary  the  Councill  determine  what  shall 
be  the  maintenance  for  which  Raeburn's  three  children  may  be  charged, 
as  likewise  tKat  Raeburn  himself,  being  now  in  the  Tolbooth  of  Edin- 
burgh, where  he  dayley  converses  with  all  the  Quakers  who  are  prisoners 
there,  and  others  who  daily  resort  to  them,  whereby  he  is  hardened  in 
his  pernitious  opinions  and  principles,  without  all  hope  of  recovery, 
unlesse  he  be  separat  from  such  pernitious  company,  humbly  therefore, 
desyring  that  the  Councell  might  determine  upon  the  soume  of  money 
to  be  payed  be  Raeburn.  for  the  education  of  his  children,  to  the  peti- 
tioner, who  will  be  countable  therefore;  and  that,  in  order  to  his  con- 
version, the  place  of  his  imprisonment  may  be  changed.  The  Lords  of 
his  Maj.  Privy  Councell  having  at  length  heard  and  considered  the 
aforesaid  petitio^n,  doe  modifie  the  soume  of  two  thousand  pounds  Scots, 
to  be  payed  yearly  at  the  terme  of  Whitsunday  be  the  saia  Walter  Scot 
of  Raeburn,  furth  of  his  estate  to  the  petitioner,  for  the  entertainment 
and  education  of  the  said  children,  beginning  the  first  termes  payment 
thereof  at  Whitsunday  last  for  the  half  year  preceding,  and  so  furth 
yearly,  at  the  said  terme  of  Whitsunday  in  tym  comeing  till  furder 
orders;  and  ordaines  the  said  Walter  Scott  of  Raeburn  to  be  trans- 
ported from  the  tolbooth  of  Edinburgh  to  the  prison  of  Jedburgh,  whore 
his  friends  and  others  may  have  occasion  to  convert  him.  And  to  the 
effect  he  may  be  secured  from  the  practice  of  other  Quakers,  the  8ai(l 
Lords  doe  hereby  discharge  the  magistrates  of  Jedburgh  to  suffer  any 
persons  suspect  of  these  principles  to  have  access  to  him;  and  in  case 
any  contraveen,  that  they  secure  ther  persons  till  they  be  therfore 
puneist;  and  ordaines  letters  to  be  direct  heirupon  in  form,  as  effeirs." 

Both  the  sons,  thus  harshly  separated  from  their  father,  proved  good 
scholars.  The  eldest,  William,  who  carried  on  the  line  of  Raeburn, 
was,  like  his  father,  a  deep  Orientalist;  the  younger,  Walter,  became 
a  good  classical  scholar,  a  great  friend  and  correspondent  of  the  cele- 
brated  Dr.    Pitcairn,   and   a  Jacobite   so   distinguished   for   zeal,   that   he 


16  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

made  a  vow  never  to  shave  his  beard  till  the  restoration  of  the  exiled 
family.      This  last  Walter   Scott  was  the  author's   great-grandfather. 

There  is  yet  another  link  betwixt  the  author  and  the  simple-minded 
and  excellent  Society  of  Friends,  through  a  proselyte  of  much  more 
importance  than  Walter  Scott  of  Raeburn.  The  celebrated  John  Swin- 
ton  of  Swinton,  nineteenth  baron  in  descent  of  that  ancient  and  once 
powerful  family,  was,  with  Sir  William  Lockhart  of  Lee,  the  person 
whom  Cromwell  chiefly  trusted  in  the  management  of  the  Scottish 
affairs  during  his  usurpation.  After  the  Restoration,  Swinton  was  de- 
voted as  a  victim  to  the  new  order  of  things,  and  was  brought  down  in 
the  same  vessel  which  conveyed  the  Marquis  of  Argyle  to  Edinburgh, 
where  that  nobleman  was  tried  and  executed.  Swinton  was  destined  to 
the  same  fate.  He  had  assumed  the  habit,  and  entered  into  the  society 
of  the  Quakers,  and  appeared  as  one  of  their  number  before  the  Parlia- 
ment of  Scotland.  He  renounced  all  legal  defence,  though  several 
pleas  were  open  to  him,  and  answered,  in  conformity  to  the  principles 
of  his  sect,  that  at  the  time  these  crimes  were  imputed  to  him,  he  was 
in  the  gall  of  bitterness  and  bond  of  iniquity;  but  that  God  Almighty 
having  since_  called  him  to  the  light,  he  saw  and  acknowledged  these 
errors,  and  did  not  refuse  to  pay  the  forfeit  of  them,  even  though,  in 
the  judgment  of  the  Parliament,  it  should  extend  to  life  itself.  Respect 
to  fallen  greatness,  and  to  the  patience  and  calm  resignation  with  which 
a  man  once  in  high  power  expressed  himself  under  such  a  change  of 
fortune,  found  Swinton  friends;  family  connections,  and  some  interested 
considerations  of  Middleton  the  Commissioner,  joined  to  procure  his 
safety,  and  he  was  dismissed,  but  after  a  long  imprisonment,  and  much 
dilapidation  of  his  estates.  It  is  said,  that  Swinton's  admonitions, 
while  confined  in  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh,  had  a  considerable  share  in 
converting  to  the  tenets  of  the  Friends  Colonel  David  Barclay,  then 
lying  there  in  garrison.  This  was  the  father  of  Robert  Barclay,  author 
of  the  celebrated  Apology  for  the  Quakers.  It  may  be  observed  among 
the  inconsistencies  of  human  nature,  that  Kirkton,  Wodrow,  and  other 
Presbyterian  authors,  who  have  detailed  the  sufferings  of  their  own 
sect  for  non-conformity  with  the  established  church,  censure  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  time  for  not  exerting  the  civil  power  against  the  peace- 
ful enthusiasts  we  have  treated  of,  and  some  express  particular  chagrin 
at  the  escape  of  Swinton.  Whatever  might  be  his  motives  for  assuming 
the  tenets  of  the  Friends,  the  old  man  retained  them  faithfully  till  the 
close* of   his   life. 

Jean  Swinton,  grand-daughter  of  Sir  John  Swinton,  son  of  Judge 
Swinton,  as  the  Quaker  was  usually  termed,  was  mother  of  Anne 
Rutherford,  the  author's  mother. 

And  thus,  as  in  the  play  of  the  Anti-Jacobin,  the  ghost  of  the  author's 
grandmother  having  arisen  to  speak  the  Epilogue,  it  is  full  time  to 
conclude,  lest  the  reader  should  remonstrate  that  his  desire  to  know  the 
Author  of  Waverley  never  included  a  wish  to  be  acquainted  with  his 
whole  ancestry. 


THE  HEART  OF  MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTER   I 


BEING    INTRODUCTORY 


So   down    thy   hill,   romantic   Ashbourn,   glides 
The  Derby  dilly,  carrying  six  insides. 

Frere. 

The  times  have  changed  in  nothing  more  (we  follow  as  we 
were  wont  the  manuscript  of  Peter  Pattieson)  than  in  the 
rapid  conveyance  of  intelligence  and  communication  be- 
twixt one  part  of  Scotland  and  another.  It  is  not  above 
twenty  or  thirty  years,  according  to  the  evidence  of  many 
credible  witnesses  now  alive,  since  a  little  miserable  horse- 
cart,  performing  with  difficulty  a  journey  of  thirty  miles 
per  diem,  carried  our  mails  from  the  capital  of  Scotland 
to  its  extremity.  Nor  was  Scotland  much  more  deficient 
in  these  accommodations  than  our  richer  sister  had  been 
about  eighty  years  before.  Fielding,  in  his  Tom  Jones, 
and  Farquhar,  in  a  little  farce  called  The  Stage-Coach, 
have  ridir-ulcd  the  slo'WTiess  of  these  vehicles  of  public 
accommodation.  According  to  the  latter  authority,  the 
highest  brilje  could  only  induce  the  coachman  to  promise 
to  anticipate  by  half-an-hour  the  usual  time  of  his  arrival 
at  the  Bull  and  Mouth. 

But  in  both  countries  these  ancient,  slow,  and  sure 
modes  of  conveyance,  are  now  alike  unknown;  mail-coach 
races  against  mail-coach,  and  high-flyer  against  high- 
flyer, through  the  most  remote  districts  of  Britain.  And 
in  our  village  alone,  three  post-coaches,  and  four  coaches, 
with  men  armed,  and  in  scarlet  cassocks,  thun(]er  through 
the  streets  each  day,  and  rival  in  brilliancy  and  noise  the 
invention  of  the  celebrated  tyrant: — 

Demcns,  qui  nimhos  rt  iwn  imitahilc  fulmrn, 
.T^rc  ct  cornipedum  pulsu,  simularat,  cquorum. 

17 


18  THE   HEAKT   OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

Now  and  then,  to  complete  the  resemblance,  and  to 
correct  the  presumption  of  the  venturous  charioteers,  it 
does  happen  that  the  career  of  these  dashing  rivals  of 
Salmoneus  meets  with  as  undesirable  and  violent  a 
termination  as  that  of  their  prototype.  It  is  on  such  I 
occasions  that  the  Insides  and  Outsides,  to  use  the  ap-  ; 
propriate  vehicular  phrases,  have  reason  to  rue  the  ex-  | 
change  of  the  slow  and  safe  motion  of  the  ancient  Fly-  ; 
coaches,  which,  compared  with  the  chariots  of  Mr.  Palmer,  , 
so  ill  deser\^e  the  name.  The  ancient  vehicle  used  to  settle  ' 
quietly  down,  like  a  ship  scuttled  and  left  to  sink  by  the  ' 
gradual  influx  of  the  waters,  while  the  modern  is  smashed  | 
to  pieces  with  the  velocity  of  the  same  vessel  hurled  | 
against  breakers,  or  rather  with  the  fury  of  a  bomb  burst-  j 
ing  at  the  conclusion  of  its  career  through  the  air.  The  j 
late  ingenious  Mr.  Pennant,  whose  humor  it  was  to  set  i 
his  face  in  stern  opposition  to  these  speedy  conveyances,  \ 
had  collected,  I  have  heard,  a  formidable  list  of  such  ; 
casualties,  which,  joined  to  the  imposition  of  innkeepers,  | 
whose  charges  the  passengers  had  no  time  to  dispute,  the 
sauciness  of  the  coachman,  and  the  uncontrolled  and  { 
despotic  authority  of  the  tyrant  called  the  Guard,  held  i 
forth  a  picture  of  horror,  to  which  murder,  theft,  fraud,  - 
and  peculation  lent  all  their  dark  coloring.  But  that ' 
which  gratifies  the  impatience  of  the  human  disposition  ' 
will  be  practised  in  the  teeth  of  danger,  and  in  defiance  ; 
of  admonition;  and,  in  despite  of  the  Cambrian  antiquary,^ 
mail  coaches  not  only  roll  their  thunders  around  the  base  ' 
of  Penman-Maur  and  Cader  Edris,  but  ; 

Friglited  Skiddaw  hears  afar  : 

The  rattling  of  the  unscythed  ear.  ^ 

And  perhaps  the  echoes  of  Ben  Nevis  may  soon  be  \ 
awakened  by  the  bugle,  not  of  a  warlike  chieftain,  but  of  . 
the  guard  of  a  mail-coach.  ■■ 

It  was  a  fine  summer  day,  and  our  little  school  had  • 
obtained  a  half  holiday,  by  the  intercession  of  a  good-  j 
humored  visitor.*  I  expected  by  the  coach  a  new  number  j 
of  an  interesting  periodical  publication,  and  walked  for-  i 

*  His  honor  Gilbert  Goslinn  of  Gandercleugh;  for  I  love  to  be  pre-  I 
cise  in   matters  of  importance. — J.   C. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  19 

ward  on  the  highway  to  meet  it,  with  the  patience  which 
Cowper  has   described   as   actuating  the   resident   in   the 
ountry  when  longing  for  intelligence  from  the  mart  of 
loews : — 

The  grand  debate, 

The  popular  harangue, — the  tart  reply, — 

The  logic,  and  the  wisdom,  and  the  wit, 

And  the  loud  laugh, — I  long  to  know  them  all; — 

I  burn  to  set  the  imprison'd  wranglers  free. 

And  give  them  voice  and  utterance  again. 

It  was  with  such  feelings  that  I  eyed  the  approach  of 
the  new  coach,  lately  established  on  our  road,  and  known 
by  the  name  of  the  Somerset,  which,  to  say  truth,  pos- 
sesses some  interest  for  me,  even  when  it  conveys  no  such 
important  information.  The  distant  tremulous  sound  of 
its  wheels  was  heard  just  as  I  gained  the  summit  of  the 
gentle  ascent,  called  the  Goslin-brae,  from  which  you  com- 
mand an  extensive  view  down  the  valley  of  the  river 
Gander.  The  public  foad,  which  comes  up  the  side  of 
^that  stream,  and  crosses  it  at  a  bridge  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  from  the  place  where  I  was  standing,  runs  partly 
through  enclosures  and  plantations,  and  partly  through 
open  pasture  land.  It  is  a  childish  amusement  perhaps, — 
but  my  life  has  been  spent  with  children,  and  why  should 
not  my  pleasures  be  like  theirs? — childish  as  it  is  then, 
I  must  own  I  have  had  great  pleasure  in  watching  the 
approach  of  the  carriage,  where  the  openings  of  the  road 
l)ermit  it  to  be  seen.  The  gay  glancing  of  the  equipage, 
its  diminished  and  toy-like  appearance  at  a  distance,  con- 
trasted with  the  rapidity  of  its  motion,  its  appearance  and 
disappearance  at  intervals,  and  the  progressively  increas- 
ing sounds  that  announce  its  nearer  approach,  have  all 
to  the  idle  and  listless  spectator,  who  has  nothing  more 
important  to  attend  to,  something  of  awakening  interest. 
The  ridicule  may  attach  to  me,  which  is  flung  upon  many 
an  honest  citizen,  who  watches  from  the  window  of  his 
villa  the  passage  of  the  stage-coach;  but  it  is  a  very 
natural  source  of  amusement,  notwithstanding,  and  many 
of  those  who  join  in  the  laugh  are  perhaps  not  unused 
to  resort  to  it  in  secret. 

On  the  present  occasion,  however,  fate  had  decreed  that 


20  THE   HEART    OE   MID-LOTHIAN 

I  should  not  enjoy  the  consummation  of  the  amusement' 
by  seeing  the  coach  rattle  past  me  as  I  sat  on  the  turf, 
and  hearing  the  hoarse  grating  voice  of  the  guard  as  he 
skimmed  forth  for  my  grasp  the  expected  packet,  without 
the  carriage  checking  its  course  for  an  instant.  I  had! 
seen  the  vehicle  thunder  down  the  hill  that  leads  to  the 
bridge  with  more  than  its  usual  impetuosity,  glittering  all 
the  while  by  flashes  from  a  cloudy  tabernacle  of  the  dust 
which  it  had  raised,  and  leaving  a  train  behind  it  on  thei 
road  resembling  a  wreath  of  summer  mist.  But  it  didi 
not  appear  on  the  top  of  the  nearer  bank  within  the  usualj 
space  of  three  minutes,  which  frequent  observation  had,' 
enabled  me  to  ascertain  was  the  medium  time  for  crossingi 
the  bridge  and  mounting  the  ascent.  When  double  that! 
space  had  elapsed,  I  became  alarmed,  and  walked  hastilyj 
forward.  As  I  came  in  sight  of  the  bridge,  the  cause  ofi 
delay  was  too  manifest,  for  the  Somerset  had  made  aj 
summerset  in  good  earnest,  and  overturned  so  completely,' 
that  it  was  literally  resting  upon  the  ground,  with  thej 
roof  undermost,  and  the  four  wheels  in  the  air.  Thei 
"exertions  of  the  guard  and  coachman,"  both  of  whomi 
were  gratefully  commemorated  in  the  newspapers,  having! 
succeeded  in  disentangling  the  horses  by  cutting  th^ 
harness,  were  now  proceeding  to  extricate  the  insides  bj^ 
a  sort  of  summary  and  Csesarean  process  of  delivery,] 
forcing  the  hinges  from  one  of  the  doors  which  they  could] 
not  open  otherwise.  In  this  manner  were  two  disconsolate 
damsels  set  at  liberty  from  the  womb  of  the  leathernj 
conveniency.  As  they  immediately  began  to  settle  theirj 
clothes,  which  were  a  little  deranged,  as  may  be  pre^ 
sumed,  I  concluded  they  had  received  no  injury,  and  did: 
not  venture  to  obtrude  my  services  at  their  toilette,  for 
which,  I  understand,  I  have  since  been  reflected  upon  by| 
the  fair  sufferers.  The  outsides,  who  must  have  been  disH 
charged  from  their  elevated  situation  by  a  shock  re-! 
sembling  the  springing  of  a  mine,  escaped,  nevertheless,' 
with  the  usual  allowance  of  scratches  and  bruises,  except-j 
ing  three,  who,  having  been  pitched  into  the  river  Gander,! 
'were  dimly  seen  contending  with  the  tide,  like  the  relica! 
of  ^neas's  shipwreck —  ■ 

Rari  apparent  nantes  in  gurgite  vasto,  ■ 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  21 

I  applied  my  poor  exertions  where  they  seemed  to  be 
most  needed,  and  with  the  assistance  of  one  or  two  of 
the  company  who  had  escaped  unhurt,  easily  succeeded 
in  fishing  out  two  of  the  unfortunate  passengers,  who  were 
stout  active  young  fellows;  and  but  for  the  preposterous 
length  of  their  great-coats,  and  the  equally  fashionable 
latitude  and  longitude  of  their  Wellington  trousers,  would 
have  required  little  assistance  from  any  one.  The  third 
was  sickly  and.  elderly,  and  might  have  perished  but  for 
the  etl'ort^  used  to  preserve  him. 

When  the  two  great-coated  gentlemen  had  extricated 
themselves  from  the  river,  and  shaken  their  ears  like 
huge  water-dogs,  a  violent  altercation  ensued  betwixt 
them  and  the  coachman  and  guard,  concerning  the  cause 
of  their  overthrow.  In  the  course  of  the  squabble,  I  ob- 
served that  both  my  new  acquaintances  belonged  to  the 
law,  and  that  their  professional  shari^ness  was  likely  to 
prove  an  overmatch  for  the  surly  and  official  tone  of  the 
guardians  of  the  vehicle.  The  dispute  ended  in  the  guard 
assuring  the'  passengers  that  they  should  have  seats  in  a 
heavy  coach  which  would  pass  that  spot  in  less  than  half- 
an-hour,  providing  it  were  not  full.  Chance  seemed  to 
favor  this  arrangement,  for  when  the  expected  vehicle 
arrived,  there  were  only  two  places  occupied  in  a  carriage 
which  professed  to  carry  six.  The  two  ladies  who  had 
been  disinterred  out  of  the  fallen  vehicle  were  readily 
admitted,  but  positive  objections  were  stated  by  those 
previously  in  possession  to  the  admittance  of  the  two 
lawyers,  whose  wetted  garments  being  much  of  the  nature 
of  well-soaked  sponges,  there  was  every  reason  to  believe 
they  would  refund  a  considerable  part  of  the  water  they 
had  collected,  to  the  inconvenience  of  their  fellow-passen- 
gers. On  the  other  hand,  the  lawyers  rejected  a  seat  on 
the  roof,  alleging  that  they  had  only  taken  that  station 
for  pleasure  for  one  stage,  but  were  entitled  in  all  respects 
to  free  egress  and  regress  from  the  interior,  to  which 
their  contract  positively  referred.  After  some  altercation, 
in  which  something  was  said  upon  the  edict,  Nautfp, 
caupones,  stahularii,  the  coach  went  off,  leaving  the 
learned  gentlemen  to  abide  by  their  action  of  damages. 

They  immediately  applied  to  me  to  guide  them  to  the 
next  village  and  the  best  inn ;  and  from  the  account  I 


22  THE   HEAKT   OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

gave  them  of  the  Wallace  Head,  declared  they  were  much 
better  pleased  to  stop  there  than  to  go  forward  upon  the 
terms  of  that  impudent  scoundrel  the  guard  of  the  Somer- 
set. All  that  they  now  wanted  was  a  lad  to  carry  their 
travelling-bags,  who  was  easily  procured  from  an  ad- 
joining cottage ;  and  they  prepared  to  walk  forward,  when 
they  found  there  was  another  passenger  in  the  same 
deserted  situation  as  themselves.  This  was  the  elderly 
and  sickly  looking  person,  who  had  been  precipitated  into 
the  river  along  with  the  two  young  lawyers.  He,  it  seems, 
had  been  too  modest  to  push  his  own  plea  against  the 
coachman  when  he  saw  that  of  his  betters  rejected,  and 
now  remained  behind  with  a  look  of  timid  anxiety,  plainly 
intimating  that  he  was  deficient  in  those  means  of  recom- 
mendation which  are  necessary  passports  to  the  hospi- 
tality of  an  inn. 

I  ventured  to  call  the  attention  of  the  two  dashing 
young  blades,  for  such  they  seemed,  to  the  desolate  condi- 
tion of  their  fellow-traveller.  They  took  the  hint  with 
ready  good-nature. 

"Oh,  true,  Mr.  Dunover,"  said  one  of  the  youngsters, 
"you  must  not  remain  on  the  pave  here;  you  must  go  and 
have  some  dinner  with  us — Halkit  and  'I  must  have  a 
post-chaise  to  go  on,  at  all  events,  and  we  will  set  you 
down  wherever  suits  you  best." 

The  poor  man,  for  such  his  dress,  as  well  as  his  diffi- 
dence, bespoke  him,  made  the  sort  of  acknowledging  bow 
by  which  says  a  Scotchman,  "It's  too  much  honor  for  the 
like  of  me";  and  followed  humbly  behind  his  gay  patrons, 
all  three  besprinkling  the  dusty  road  as  they  walked 
along  with  the  moisture  of  their  drenched  garments,  and 
exhibiting  the  singular  and  somewhat  ridiculous  appear- 
ance of  three  persons  suffering  from  the  opposite  extreme 
of  humidity,  while  the  summer  sun  was  at  its  height,  and 
everything  else  around  them  had  the  expression  of  heat 
and  drought.  The  ridicule  did  not  escape  the  young 
gentlemen  themselves,  and  they  had  made  what  might  be 
received  as  one  or  two  tolerable  jests  on  the  subject  be- 
fore they  had  advanced  far  on  their  peregrination. 

"We  cannot  complain,  like  Cowley,"  said  one  of  them, 
"that  Gideon's  fleece  remains  dry,  while  all  around  is 
moist;  this  is  the  reverse  of  the  miracle." 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  23  I 

"TVe  ought  to  be  received  with  g:ratitude  in  this  good  \ 

town ;  we  bring  a  supply  of  what  they  seem  to  need  most,"  (; 

said  Halkit.  (' 

"And  distribute   it   with   unparalleled   generosity,"   re- 
plied his  companion;  "performing  the  part  of  three  water-  | 
carts  for  the  benefit  of  their  dusty  roads."  1 

"We  come  before  them,  too,"  said  Halkit,  "in  full  pro-  I 

fessional  force — counsel  and  agent "  | 

"And  client,"  said  the  young  advocate,  looking  behind  i 
him.     And  then  added,  lowering  his  voice,  "that  looks  as 

if  he  had  kept  such  dangerous  company  too  long."  , 

It  was,  indeed,  too  true,  that  the  humble  follower  of 
the  gay  young  men  had  the  threadbare  appearance  of  a 
worn-out  litigant,  and  I  could  not  but  smile  at  the  con- 
ceit, though  anxious  to  conceal  my  mirth  from  the  object 
of  it. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  Wallace  Inn,  the  elder  of  the  | 
Edinburgh  gentlemen,   and   whom  I   understood   to   be   a  \ 
barrister,  insisted  that  I  should  remain  and  take  part  of 
their  dinner;   and  their  inquiries  and  demands  speedily 
put  my  landlord  and  his  whole  family  in  motion  to  pro- 
duce the  best  cheer  which  the  larder  and  cellar  afforded,  i 
and  proceed  to  cook  it  to  the  best  advantage,  a  science  in  i 
which  our  entertainers  seemed  to  be  admirably  skilled.   In 
other  respects  they  were  lively  young  men,  in  the  heyday  ' 
of   youth    and    good    spirits,    playing   the   part   which    is  ! 
common  to  the  higher  classes  of  the  law  at  Edinburgh,  I 
and  which  nearly  resembles  that  of  the  young  templars  i 
in   the  days   of   Steele   and   Addison.     An   air  of  giddy  ', 
gaiety  mingled  with  the  good  sense,  taste,  and  informa-  | 
tion  which  their  conversation  exhibited;  and  it  seemed  to 
be  their  object  to  unite  the  character  of  men  of  fashion 
and  lovers  of  the  polite  arts.     A  fine  gentleman,  bred  up  i 
in  the  thorough  idleness   and   inanity  of  pursuit,   which  ' 
I   understand  is  absolutely  necessary  to  the  character  in  * 
perfection,  might  in  all  probability  have  traced  a  tinge 
of  professional  pedantry  whir-h   marked   the  barrister   in  , 
spite  of  his  efforts,  and  sometliing  of  active  bustle  in  hi?<  i 
companion,  and  would  certainly  have  detected  more  than  ! 
a  fashionable  mixture  of   rnformation   and   animated   in-  i 
terest  in  the  language  of  both.     ]>ut  to  me,  who  had  no  i 
pretensions  to  be  so  critical,  my  companions  seemed  to  ! 


24  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

form  a  very  happy  mixture  of  good-breeding  and  liberal 
information,  with  a  disposition  to  lively  rattle,  pmi,  and 
jest,  amusing  to  a  grave  man,  because  it  is  what  he  him- 
self can  least  easily  command. 

The  thin  pale-faced  man,  whom  their  good  nature  had 
brought  into  their  society,  looked  out  of  place  as  well  as 
out  of  spirits;  sate  on  the- edge  of  his  seat,  and  kept  the 
chair  at  two  feet  distance  from  the  table;  thus  incom- 
moding himself  considerably  in  conveying  the  victuals  to 
his  mouth,  as  if  by  way  of  penance  for  partaking  of  them 
in  the  company  of  his  superiors.  A  short  time  after 
dinner,  declining  all  entreaty  to  partake  of  the  wine, 
which  circulated  freely  round,  he  informed  himself  of  the 
hour  when  the  chaise  had  been  ordered  to  attend;  and 
saying  he  would  be  in  readiness,  modestly  withdrew  from 
the  apartment. 

*'Jack,"  said  the  barrister  to  his  companion,  ''1  remem- 
ber that  poor  fellow's  face;  you  spoke  more  truly  than  you 
were  aware  of;  he  really  is  one  of  my  clients,  poor  man." 

'Toor  man!"  echoed  Halkit — "I  suppose  you  mean  he 
is  your  one  and  only  client?" 

''That's  not  my  fault.  Jack,"  replied  the  other,  whose 
name  I  discovered  was  Hardie.  "You  are  to  give  me  all 
your  business,  you  know;  and  if  you  have  none,  the 
learned  gentleman  here  knows  nothing  can  come  of 
nothing." 

"You  seem  to  have  brought  something  to  nothing 
though,  in  the  case  of  that  honest  man.  He  looks  as  if 
he  were  just  about  to  honor  with  his  residence  the  Heart 
OF  Mid-Lot HiAX." 

"You  are  mistaken — he  is  just  delivered  from  it. — Our 
friend  here  looks  for  an  explanation.  Pray,  Mr.  Pattieson, 
have  you  been  in  Edinburgh?" 

I  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"Then  you  must  have  passed,  occasionally  at  least, 
though  probably  not  so  faithfully  as  I  am  doomed  to  do, 
through  a  narrow  intricate  passage,  leading  out  of  the 
northwest  corner  of  the  Parliament  Square,  and  passing 
by  a  high  and  antique  building,  with  turrets  and  iron 
grates — 

Making  good  the  saying  odd, 

'Near  the  church  and  far  from  God * " 


TPIE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  25 

!Mr.  Halkit  broke  in  upon  his  learned  counsel,  to  con- 
tribute his  moiety  to  the  riddle — ''Having  at  the  door  tlie 
sign  of  the  Red  Man " 

"And  being  on  the  whole,"  resumed  the  counsellor,  in- 
terrupting his  friend  in  his  turn,  "a  sort  of  place  where 
misfortune  is  happily  confounded  with  guilt,  where  all 
who  are  in  wish  to  get  out " 

"And  where  none  who  have  the  good  luck  to  be  out, 
wish  to  get  in,"  added  his  companion. 

'*!  conceive  you,  gentlemen,"  replied  I;  "you  mean  the 
prison." 

"The  prison,"  added  the  young  lawyer — "You  have  hit 
it — the  very  reverend  Tolbooth  itself;  and  let  me  tell  you, 
you  are  obliged  to  us  for  describing  it  with  so  much 
modesty  and  brevity;  for  with  whatever  amplifications  we 
might  have  chosen  to  decorate  the  subject,  you  lay  en- 
tirely at  our  mercy,  since  the  Fathers  Conscript  of  our 
city  have  decreed,  that  the  venerable  edifice  itself  shall 
not  remain  in  existence  to  confirm  or  to  confute  us." 

"Then  the  Tolbooth  of  Edinburgh  is  called  the  Heart 
of   Mid-Lothian?"   said   I. 

"So  termed  and  reputed,  I  assure  you." 

"I  think,"  said  I,  with  the  bashful  diffidence  with  which 
a  man  lets  slip  a  pun  in  presence  of  his  superiors,  "the 
metropolitan  county  may,  in  that  case,  be  said  to  have  a 
sad  heart." 

"Right  as  my  glove,  Mr.  Pattieson,"  added  Mr.  Hardie; 
"and  a  close  heart,  and  a  hard  heart — Keep  it  up,  Jack." 

"And  a  wicked  heart,  and  a  poor  heart,"  answered 
Halkit,  doing  his  best. 

"And  yet  it  may  be  called  in  some  sort  a  strong  heart, 
and  a  high  heart,"  rejoined  the  advocate.  "You  see  I  can 
put  you  both  out  of  heart." 

"I  have  played  all  my  hearts,"  said  the  younger  gentle- 
man. 

"Then  we'll  have  another  lead,"  answered  his  com- 
panion.— "And  as  to  the  old  and  condemned  Tolbooth, 
what  pity  the  same  honor  cannot  be  done  to  it  as  has  been 
done  to  many  of  its  inmates.  Why  should  not  the  Tol- 
booth have  its  'Last  Speech,  Confession,  and  Hying 
Words'?  The  old  stones  would  be  just  as  conscious  of  the 
honor  as  many  a  poor  devil  who  has  dangled  like  a  tassel 


26  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

at  the  west  end  of  it,  while  the  hawkers  were  shouting  a 
confession  the  culprit  had  never  heard  of.'* 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  I,  "if  I  might  presume  to  give  my 
opinion,  it  would  be  a  tale  of  unvaried  sorrow  and  guilt." 

"Not  entirely,  my  friend,"  said  Hardie;  "a  prison  is  a 
world  within  itself,  and  has  its  own  business,  griefs,  and 
joys,  peculiar  to  its  circle.  Its  inmates  are  sometimes 
short-lived,  but  so  are  soldiers  on  service;  they  are  poor 
relatively  to  the  world  without,  but  there  are  degrees  of 
wealth  and  poverty  among  them,  and  so  some  are  rela- 
tively rich  also.  They  cannot  stir  abroad,  but  neither 
can  the  garrison  of  a  besieged  fort,  or  the  crew  of  a  ship 
at  sea ;  and  they  are  not  under  a  dispensation  quite  so 
desperate  as  either,  for  they  may  have  as  much  food  as 
they  have  money  to  buy,  and  are  not  obliged  to  work 
whether  they  have  food  or  not." 

"But  what  variety  of  incident,"  said  I  (not  without  a 
secret  view  to  my  present  task),  "could  possibly  be  de- 
rived from  such  a  work  as  you  are  pleased  to  talk  of?" 

"Infinite,"  replied  the  young  advocate.  "Whatever  of 
guilt,  crime,  imposture,  folly,  unheard  of  misfortunes,  and 
unlooked-for  change  of  fortune,  can  be  found  to  checker 
life,  my  Last  Speech  of  the  Tolbooth  should  illustrate 
with  examples  sufficient  to  gorge  even  the  public's  all- 
devouring  appetite  for  the  wonderful  and  horrible.  The 
inventor  of  fictitious  narratives  has  to  rack  his  brains 
for  means  to  diversify  his  tale,  and  after  all  can  hardly 
hit  upon  characters  or  incidents  which  have  not  been  used 
again  and  again,  until  they  are  familiar  to  the  eye  of 
the  reader,  so  that  the  development,  enlevement,  the 
desperate  wound  of  which  the  hero  never  dies,  the  burn- 
ing fever  from  which  the  heroine  is  sure  to  recover,  be- 
come a  mere  matter  of  course.  I  join  with  my  honest 
friend  Crabbe,  and  have  an  unlucky  propensity  to  hope 
when  hope  is  lost,  and  to  rely  upon  the  cork- jacket,  which 
carries  the  heroes  of  romance  safe  through  all  the  billows 
of  affliction."  He  then  declaimed  the  following  passage, 
rather  with  too  much  than  too  little  emphasis: 

".'Much  have  I  fear'd,  but  am  no  more  afraid, 

When  some  chaste  beauty,  by  some  wretch  betray'd, 
Is  drawn  away  with  such  distracted  speed, 
That  she  anticipates  a  dreadful  deed. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  27 

Not  so  do  I — Let  solid  walls  impound 

The  captive  fair,  and  dig  a  moat  around ; 

Let  there  be  brazen  locks  and  bars  of  steel, 

And  keepers  cruel,  such  a«  never  fef  1 ; 

^^'ith  not  a  single  note  the  purse  supply. 

And  when  she  begs,  let  nuMi  and  nuiids  deny; 

Be  windows  there  from  which  she  dares  not  fall 

And  help  so  distant,  'tis  in  vain  to  call; 

JStill  means  of  freedom  will  some  l*ower  devise. 

And  from  the  baffled  ruffian  snatch  his  prize.' 

"The  end  of  uncertainty,"  he  concluded,  "is  the  death 
of  interest ;  and  hence  it  happens  that  no  one  now  reads 
novels.'' 

"Hear  him,  ye  gods!"  returned  his  companion.  "I 
assure  you,  Mr.  Pattieson,  you  will  hardly  visit  this 
learned  gentleman,  but  you  are  likely  to  find  the  new 
novel  most  in  repute  lying  on  his  table, — snugly  in- 
trenched, however,  beneath  vStair's  Institutes,  or  an  open 
volume  of  Morrison's  Decisions." 

"Do  I  deny  it?"  said  the  hopeful  jurisconsult,  "or 
wherefore  should  I,  since  it  is  well  known  these  Dalilahs 
seduce  my  wisers  and  my  betters  I  May  they  not  be  found 
lurking  amidst  the  multiplied  memorials  of  our  most 
distinguished  counsel,  and  even  peeping  from  under  the 
cushion  of  a  judge's  arm-chair?  Our  seniors  at  the  bar, 
within  the  bar,  and  even  on  the  bench,  read  novels;  and, 
if  not  belied,  some  of  them  have  written  novels  into  the 
bargain.  I  only  say,  that  I  read  from  habit  and  from 
indolence,  not  from  real  interest ;  that,  like  Ancient  Pistol 
devouring  his  leek,  I  read  and  swear  till  I  get  to  the  end 
of  the  narrative.  But  not  so  in  the  real  records  of  human 
vagaries — not  so  in  the  State  ^Trials,  or  in  the  Books  of 
Adjournal,  where  every  now  and  then  you  read  new 
pages  of  the  human  heart,  and  turns  of  fortune  far  be- 
yond what  the  boldest  novelist  ever  attempted  to  produce 
from  the  coinage  of  his  brain." 

"And  for  such  narratives,"  I  asked,  "you  suppose  the 
History  of  the  Prison  of  Edinburgh  might  afford  ap- 
propriate materials?" 

"In  a  degree  unusuady  ample,  my  dear  sir,"  said 
Hardie — "Fill  your  glass,  however,  in  the  meanwhile. 
Was  it  not  for  many  years  the  place  in  which  the  Scottish 


28  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

.  Parliament  met  ?  Was  it  not  James's  place  of  refuge, 
when  the  mob,  inflamed  by  a  seditious  preacher,  broke 
forth  on  him  with.the  cries  of  'The  sword  of  the  Lord  and 
of  Gideon — bring  forth  the  wicked  Haman'?  Since  that 
time  how  many  hearts  have  throbbed  within  these  walls, 
as  the  tolling  of  the  neighboring  bell  announced  to  them 
how  fast  the  sands  of  their  life  were  ebbing;  how  many 
must  have  sunk  at  the  sound — how  many  were  supported 
by  stubborn  pride  and  dogged  resolution — how  many 
by  the  consolations  of  religion?  Have  there  not  been 
some,  who,  looking  back  on  the  motives  of  their  crimes, 
were  scarce  able  to  understand  how  they  should  have  had 
such  temptation  as  to  seduce  them  from  virtue?  and  have 
there  not,  perhaps,  been  others,  who,  sensible  of  their 
innocence,  were  divided  between  indignation  at  the  un- 
deserved doom  which  they  were  to  undergo,  consciousness 
that  they  had  not  deserved  it,  and  racking  anxiety  to 
discover  some  way  in  which  they  might  yet  vindicate 
themselves?  Do  you  suppose  any  of  these  deep,  powerful, 
and  agitating  feelings,  can  be  recorded  and  perused  with- 
out exciting  a  corresponding  depth  of  deep,  powerful, 
and  agitating  interest  ? — Oh !  do  but  wait  till  I  publish  the 
Causes  Cclehres  of  Caledonia,  and  you  will  find  no  w^ant 
of  a  novel  or  a  tragedy  for  some  time  to  come.  The  true 
thing  will  triumph  over  the  brightest  inventions  of  the 
the  most  ardent  imagination.  Magna  est  Veritas,  et 
proevalehit." 

"I  have  understood,"  said  I,  encouraged  by  the  affability 
of  my  rattling  entertainer,  "that  less  of  this  interest  must 
attach  to  Scottish  jurisprudence  than  to  that  of  any  other 
country.  The  general  morality  of  our  people,  their  sober 
and  prudent  habits " 

"Secure  them,"  said  the  barrister,  "against  any  great 
increase  of  professional  thieves  and  depredators,  but  not 
against  wild  and  wayward  starts  of  fancy  and  passion, 
producing  crimes  of  an  extraordinary  description,  which 
are  precisely  those  to  the  detail  of  which  we  listen  with 
thrilling  interest.  England  has  been  much  longer  a 
highly  civilized  country;  her  subjects  have  been  very 
strictly  amenable  to  laws  administered  without  fear  or 
favor,  a  complete  division  of  labor  has  taken  place  among 
her  subjects,  and  the  very  thieves  and  robbers  form  a  dis- 


THE   HEART    OF   :M1D-L0THIAN  29 

tinct  class  in  society,  subdivided  among  themselves  ac- 
cording: to  the  subject  of  their  depredations,  and  the  mode 
in  which  they  carry  them  on,  acting  upon  regular  habits 
and  principles,  which  can  be  calculated  and  anticipated 
at  Bow  Street,  Hatton  Garden,  or  the  Old  Bailey.  Our 
sister  kingdom  is  like  a  cultivated  field, — the  farmer  ex- 
pects that,  in  spite  of  all  his  care,  a  certain  number  of 
weeds  will  rise  with  the  com,  and  can  tell  you  beforehand 
their  names  and  appearance.  But  Scotland  is  like  one  of 
her  own  Highland  glens,  and  the  moralist  who  reads  the 
records  of  her  criminal  jurisprudence,  will  find  as  many 
curious  anomalous  facts  in  the  history  of  mind,  as  the 
botanist  will  detect  rare  specimens  among  her  dingles 
and    cliffs.'*' 

''And  that's  all  the  good  you  have  obtained  from  three 
perusals  of  the  Commentaries  on  Scottish  Criminal  Juris- 
prudence ("  said  his  companion.  'T  suppose  the  learned 
author  very  little  thinks  that  the  facts  which  his  erudi- 
tion and  acuteness  have  accumulated  for  the  illustration 
of  legal  doctrines,  might  be  so  arranged  as  to  form  a  sort 
of  appendix  to  the  half-bound  and  slipshod  volumes  of 
the  circulating  librarj'." 

'T'll  bet  you  a  pint  of  claret,''  said  the  elder  lawyer, 
''that  he  will  not  feel  sore  at  the  comparison.  But  as  we 
say  at  the  bar,  'I  beg  I  may  not  be  interrupted';  I  have 
much  more  to  say  upon  my  Scottish  collection  of  Causes 
Cclehres.  You  will  please  recollect  the  scope  and  motive 
given  for  the  contrivance  and  execution  of  many  extraor- 
dinary^ and  daring  crimes,  by  the  long  civil  dissensions 
of  Scotland — by  the  hereditarj^  jurisdictions,  which,  until 
1748,  rested  the  investigation  of  crimes  in  judges,  igno- 
rant, partial,  or  interested — by  the  habits  of  the  gentry, 
shut  up  in  their  distant  and  solitary  mansion-houses, 
nursing  their  revengeful  passions  just  to  keep  their  blood 
from  stagnating — not  to  mention  that  amiable  national 
qnalification,  called  the  perfervidnm  ingenium  Scotorum, 
whicli  our  lawyers  join  in  alleging  as  a  reason  for  the 
severity  of  some  of  our  enactments.  When  I  come  to 
treat  of  matters  so  mysterious,  deep,  and  dangerous,  as 
these  ciroumstances  have  given  rise  to,  the  blood  of  each 
reader  shall  be  curdled,   and   his   epidermis   crisped   into 


30  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

goose   skin. — But   hist! — ^here   comes   the   landlord,    with 
tidings,   I   suppose,   that   the   chaise  is   ready." 

It  was  no  such  thing — the  tidings  bore,  that  no  chaise 
could  be  had  that  evening,  for  Sir  Peter  Ply  em  had 
carried  forward  my  landlord's  two  pairs  of  horses  that 
morning  to  the  ancient  royal  borough  of  Bubbleburgh, 
to  look  after  his  interest  there.  But  as  Bubbleburgh  is 
only  one  of  a  set  of  five  boroughs  which  club  their  shares 
for  a  member  of  parliament,  Sir  Peter's  adversary  had 
judiciously  watched  his  departure,  in  order  to  commence 
a  canvass  in  the  no  less  royal  borough  of  Bitem,  which, 
as  all  the  world  knows,  lies  at  the  very  t'ermination  of 
Sir  Peter's  avenue,  and  has  been  held  in  leading-strings 
by  him  and  his  ancestors  for  time  immemorial.  Now  Sir 
Peter  was  thus  placed  in  the  situation  of  an  ambitious 
monarch,  who,  after  having  commenced  a  daring  inroad 
into  his  enemies'  territories,  is  suddenly  recalled  by  an 
invasion  of  his  own  hereditary  dominions.  He  was 
obliged  in  consequence  to  return  from  the  half-won 
borough  of  Bubbleburgh,  to  look  after  the  half-lost 
borough  of  Bitem,  and  the  two  pairs  of  horses  which  had 
carried  him  that  morning  to  Bubbleburgh  were  now 
forcibly  detained  to  transport  him,  his  agent,  his  valet, 
his  jester,  and  his  hard-drinker,  across  the  country  to 
Bitem.  The  cause  of  this  detention,  which  to  me  was  of 
as  little  consequence  as  it  may  be  to  the  reader,  was  im- 
portant enough  to  my  companions  to  reconcile  them  to  the 
delay.  Like  eagles,  they  smelled  the  battle  afar  oif, 
ordered  a  magnum  of  claret  and  beds  at  the  Wallace,  and 
entered  at  full  career  into  the  Bubbleburgh  and  Bitem 
politics,  with  all  the  probable  "petitions  and  complaints" 
to  which  they  were  likely  to  give  rise. 

In  the  midst  of  an  anxious,  animated,  and,  to  me,  most 
unintelligible  discussion,  concerning  provosts,  bailies, 
deacons,  sets  of  boroughs,  leets,  town-clerks,  burgesses 
resident  and  non-resident,  all  of  a  sudden  the  lawyer 
recollected  himself.  "Poor  Dunover,  we  must  not  forget 
him";  and  the  landlord  was  despatched  in  quest  of  the 
pauvre  honteux,  with  an  earnestly  civil  invitation  to  him 
for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  I  could  not  help  asking  the 
young  gentlemen  if  they  knew  the  history  of  this  poor 
man;  and  the  counsellor  applied  himself  to  his  pocket  to 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAX  31 

recover  the  memorial  or  brief  from  which  he  had  stated 
his   cause. 

"He  has  been  a  candidate  for  our  remedium  miserahile ," 
said  Mr.  Hardie,  ''commonly  called  a  cessio  honorum.  As 
there  are  divines  who  have  doubted  the  eternity  of  future 
jnuiishments,  so  the  Scotch  la^\7'e^s  seem  to  have  thought 
that  the  crime  of  poverty  might  be  atoned  for  by  some- 
thing short  of  perpetual  imprisonment.  After  a  month's 
confinement,  you  must  know,  a  prisoner  for  debt  is  en- 
titled, on  a  sufficient  statement  to  our  Supreme  Court, 
setting  forth  the  amount  of  his  funds,  and  the  nature  of 
his  misfortunes,  and  surrendering  all  his  effects  to  his 
creditors,  to  claim  to  be  discharged  from  prison." 

"I  had  heard,"  I  replied,  "of  such  a  humane  regulation." 

"Yes,"  said  Halkit,  "and  the  beauty  of  it  is,  as  the 
foreign  fellow  said,  you  may  get  the  cessio  when  the 
honorums  are  all  spent — But  what,  are  you  puzzling  in 
your  pockets  to  seek  your  only  memorial  among  old  play- 
bills, letters  requesting  a  meeting  of  the  Faculty,  rules 
of  the  Speculative  Society,  syllabus  9f  lectures — all  the 
miscellaneous  contents  of  a  young  advocate's  pocket, 
which  contains  everything  but  briefs  and  bank  notes? 
Can  you  not  state  a  case  of  cessio  without  your  memorial? 
Why,  it  is  done  every  Saturday.  The  events  follow  each 
other  as  regularly  as  clock-work,  and  one  form  of  con- 
descendence might  suit  every  one  of  them." 

"This  is  very  unlike  the  variety  of  distress  which  this 
gentleman  stated  to  fall  under  the  consideration  of  your 
judges,"  said  I. 

"True,"  replied  Halkit;  "but  Hardie  spoke  of  criminal 
jurisprudence,  and  this  business  is  purely  civil.  I  could 
plead  a  cessio  myself  without  the  inspiring  honors  of  a 
gown  and  three-tailed  periwig — Listen. — ^fy  client  was 
bred  a  journeyman  weaver — made  some  little  money — 
took  a  farm — (for  conducting  a  farm,  like  driving  a  gig, 
comes  by  nature) — late  severe  times — induced  to  sign  bills 
with  a  friend,  for  which  he  received  no  value — landlord 
sequestrates  —  creditors  accept  a  composition  —  pursuer 
sets  up  a  public  house — fails  a  second  time — is  incarce- 
rated for  a  debt  of  ten  y)ounds,  seven  shillings  and  six- 
pence— his  debts  amount  to  blank — his  losses  to  blank — his 
funds  to  blank — leaving  a  balance  of  blank  in  his  favor. 


32  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

There  is  no  opposition;  your  lordships  will  please  grant 
commission   to   take   his    oath." 

Hardie  now  renounced  this  ineffectual  search,  in  which 
there  was  perhaps  a  little  affectation,  and  told  us  the 
tale  of  poor  Dunover's  distresses,  with  a  tone  in  which 
a  degree  of  feeling,  which  he  seemed  ashamed  of  as 
unprofessional,  mingled  with  his  attempts  at  wit,  and 
did  him  more  honor.  It  was  one  of  those  tales  which 
seem  to  argue  a  sort  of  ill-luck  or  fatality  attached  to 
the  hero.  A  well-informed,  industrious,  and  blameless, 
but  poor  and  bashful  man,  had  in  vain  essayed  all  tho 
usual  means  by  which  others  acquire  independence,  yet 
had  never  succeeded  beyond  the  attainment  of  bare  sub- 
sistence. During  a  brief  gleam  of  hope,  rather  than  of 
actual  prosperity,  he  had  added  a  wife  and  family  to  his 
cares,  but  the  dawn  was  speedily  overcast.  Everything 
retrograded  with  him  toward  the  verge  of  the  miry 
Slough  of  Despond,  which  yawns  for  insolvent  debtors; 
and  after  catching  at  each  twig,  and  experiencing  the 
protracted  agony  of  'feeling  them  one  by  one  elude  his 
grasp,  he  actually  sunk  into  the  miry  pit  whence  he  had 
been  extricated  by  the  professional  exertions  of  Hardie. 

"And,  I  suppose,  now  you  have  dragged  this  poor  devil 
ashore,  you  will  leave  him  half  naked  on  the  beach  to 
provide  for  himself?"  said  Halkit.  "Hark  ye," — and  he 
whispered  something  in  his  ear,  of  which  the  penetrating 
and  insinuating  words,  "Interest  with  my  Lord,"  alone 
reached    mine. 

"It  is  pessimi  exempli/^  said  Hardie,  laughing,  "to  pro- 
vide for  a  ruined  client;  but  I  was  thinking  of  what  you 
mention,  provided  it  can  be  managed — ^But  hush !  here 
he  comes." 

The  recent  relation  of  the  poor  man's  misfortunes  had 
given  him,  I  was  pleased  to  observe,  a  claim  to  the  atten- 
tion and  respect  of  the  young  men,  who  treated  him  with 
great  civility,  and  gradually  engaged  him  in  a  conversa- 
tion, which,  much  to  my  satisfaction,  again  turned  upon 
the  Causes  Celchres  of  Scotland.  Emboldened  by  the 
kindness  with  which  he  was  treated,  Mr.  Dunover  began 
to  contribute  his  share  to  the  amusement  of  the  evening. 
Jails,  like  other  places,  have  their  ancient  traditions, 
known  only  to   the  inhabitants,   and  handed  down  from 


THE   HP:ART    of    MID-LOTHIAX  ;i;3 

one  set  of  the  melancholy  lodgers  to  the  next  who  occupy 
their  cells.  Some  of  these,  which  Dunover  mentioned, 
wore  interesting,  and  served  to  illustrate  the  narratives 
of  remarkable  trials,  which  llardie  had  at  his  finger  ends, 
and  which  his  companion  was  also  well  skilled  in.  This 
sort  of  conversation  passed  away  the  evening  till  the  early 
hour  when  !Mr.  Dunover  chose  to  retire  to  rest,  and  I 
also  retreatetl  to  take  down  memorandums  of  what  I  had 
learned,  in  order  to  add  another  narrative  to  those  which 
it  had  been  my  chief  amusement  to  collect,  and  to  write 
out  in  detail.  The  two  young  men  ordered  a  broiled 
bone,  Madeira  negus,  and  a  pack  of  cards,  and  commenced 
a  game  at  picquet. 

Xext  morning  the  travellers  left  Gandercleugh.  I  after- 
ward learned  from  the  papers  that  both  have  been  since 
engaged  in  the  great  political  cause  of  Bubbleburgh  and 
Bitem,  a  summary  case,  and  entitled  to  particular  des- 
patch; but  which,  it  ii  thought,  nevertheless,  may  outlast 
the  duration  of  the  parliament  to  which  the  contest  re- 
fers. Mr.  Halkit,  as  the  newspapers  informed  me,  acts 
as  agent  or  solicitor;  and  Mr.  Hardie  opened  for  Sir  Peter 
Plyem  with  singular  ability,  and  to  such  good  purpose, 
that  I  understand  he  has  since  had  fewer  play-bills  and 
more  briefs  in  his  pocket.  And  both  the  young  gentle- 
men deserve  their  good  fortune;  for  I  learned  from  Dun- 
over, who  called  on  me  some  weeks  afterv/ard,  and  com- 
municated the  intelligence  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that 
their  interest  had  availed  to  obtain  him  a  small  office  for 
the  decent  maintenance  of  his  family;  and  that,  after  a 
train  of  constant  and  uninterrupted  misfortune,  he  could 
trace  a  dawn  of  prosperity  to  his  having  the  good  fortune 
to  be  flung  from  .the  top  of  a  mail-coach  into  the  river 
Gander,  in  company  with  an  advocate  and  a  writer  to  the 
signet.  The  reader  will  not  perhaps  deem  himself  equally 
obliged  to  the  accident,  since  it  brings  upon  him  the  fol- 
lowing narrative,  founded  upon  the  conversation  of  the 
evening. 


34  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTER   II 

Whoe'er's  been  at  Paris  must  needs  know  the  Greve. 
The   fatal  retreat  of  the   unfortunate  brave, 
Where   honor   and   justice   most   oddly   contribute, 
To  ease  heroes'  pains  by  an  halter   and  gibbet. 

There  death  breaks  the  shackles  which  force  had  put  on. 

And  the  hangman  completes  what  the  judge  but  began; 

There  the  squire  of  the  poet,   and  knight  of  the  post, 

Find  their  pains  no  more  baulk'd,  and  their  hopes  no  more  cross'd. 

Prior. 

Ix  former  times,  England  had  her  Tyburn,  to  which  the 
devoted  victims  of  justice  were  conducted  in  solemn  pro- 
cession up  what  is  now  called  Oxford  Road.  In  Edin- 
burgh, a  large  open  street,  or  rather  oblong  square,  sur- 
rounded by  high  houses,  called  the  Grassmarket,  was  used 
for  the  same  melancholy  purpose.  It  was  not  ill  chosen 
for  such  a  scene,  being  of  considerable  extent,  and  there- 
fore fit  to  accommodate  a  great  number  of  spectators, 
such  as  are  usually  assembled  by  this  melancholy  specta- 
cle. On  the  other  hand,  few  of  the  houses  which  surround 
it  were,  even  in  early  times,  inhabited  by  persons  of 
fashion ;  so  that  those  likely  to  be  offended  or  over-deeply 
affected  by  such  unpleasant  exhibitions  were  not  in  the 
way  of  having  their  quiet  disturbed  by  them.  The  houses 
in  the  Grassmarket  are,  generally  speaking,  cf  a  mean 
description;  yet  the  place  is  not  without  some  features  of 
grandeur,  being  overhung  by  the  southern  side  of  the  huge 
rock  on  which  the  castle  stands,  and  by  the  moss-grown 
battlements  and  turreted  walls  of  that  ancient  fortress. 

It  was  the  custom,  until  within  these  thirty  years,  or 
thereabouts,  to  use  this  esplanade  for  the  scene  of  public 
executions.  The  fatal  day  was  announced  to  the  public, 
by  the  appearance  of  a  huge  black  gallows-tree  toward 
the  eastern  end  of  the  Grassmarket.  This  ill-omened  ap- 
parition was  of  great  height,  with  a  scaffold  surrounding 
it,  and  a  double  ladder  placed  against  it,  for  the  ascent 
of  the  unhappy  criminal  and  the  executioner.  As  this 
apparatus  was  always  arranged  before  dawn,  it  seemed  as 
if  the  gallows  had  grown  out  of  the  earth  in  the  course 


THE    HEART    OE    :\I1D-L0THIAN  35 

of  one  night,  like  the  production  of  some  foul  demon; 
and  I  well  remember  the  fright  with  which  the  school- 
boys, when  I  \vas  one  of  their  number,  used  to  regard 
these  ominous  signs  of  deadly  preparation.  On  the  night 
after  the  execution  the  gallows  again  disappeared,  and 
was  conveyed  in  silence  and  darkness  to  the  place  where 
it  was  usually  deposited,  which  was  one  of  the  vaults 
under  the  Parliament  House,  or  courts  of  justice.  This 
mode  of  execution  is  now  exchanged  for  one  similar  to 
that  in  front  of  Xewgat^, — with  what  beneficial  effect  is 
uncertain.  The  mental  sufferings  of  the  convict  are  in- 
deed shortened.  He  no  longer  stalks  between  the  at- 
tendant clergyman,  dressed  m  his  grave-clothes,  through 
a  considerable  part  of  the  city,  looking  like  a  moving  and 
walking  corpse,  while  yet  an  inhabitant  of  this  world; 
but,  as  the  ultimate  purpose  of  punishment  has  in  view 
the  prevention  of  crimes,  it  may  at  least  be  doubted, 
whether,  in  abridging  the  melancholy  ceremony,  we  have 
not  in  part  diminished  that  appalling  effect  upon  the  spec- 
tators which  is  the  useful  end  of  all  such  inflictions,  and 
in  consideration  of  which  alone,  unless  in  very  particular 
cases,  capital  sentences  can  be  altogether  justified. 

On  the  7th  day  of  September,  173fi,  these  ominous 
preparations  for  execution  were  descried  in  the  place  we 
have  described,  and  at  an  early  hour  the  space  around 
began  to  be  occupied  by  several  groups,  who  gazed  on 
the  scaffold  and  gibbet  with  a  stern  and  vindictive  show 
of  satisfaction  very  seldom  testified  by  the  populace, 
whose  good-nature,  in  most  cases,  forgets  the  crime  of  the 
condemned  person,  and  dwells  only  on  his  misery.  But 
the  act  of  which  the  expected  culprit  had  been  convicted 
was  of  a  description  calculated  nearly  and  closely  to 
awaken  and  irritate  the  resentful  feelings  of  the  multi- 
tude. The  tale  is  well  known ;  yet  it  is  necessary  to  re- 
capitulate its  leading  circumstances,  for  the  better  under- 
standing what  is  to  follow;  and  the  narrative  may  prove 
long,  but  1  trust  not  uninteresting,  even  to  those  who 
have  heard  its  general  issue.  At  any  rate,  some  detail 
is  necessary,  in  order  to  render  intelligible  the  subsequent 
events   of   our   narrative. 

Contraband  trade,  though  it  strikes  at  the  root  of 
legitimate  government,  by  encroaching  on  its  revenues, — 


36  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

though  it  injures  the  fair  trader,  and  debauches  the  minds 
of  those  engaged  in  it, — is  not  usually  looked  upon,  either 
by  the  vulgar  or  by  their  betters,  in  a  very  heinous  point 
of  view.  On  the  contrary,  in  those  counties  where  it  pre- 
vails, the  cleverest,  boldest,  and  most  intelligent  of  the 
peasantry,  are  uniformly  engaged  in  illicit  transactions, 
and  very  often  with  the  sanction  of  the  farmers  and  in- 
ferior gentry.  Smuggling  was  almost  universal  in  Scot- 
land in  the  reigns  of  George  I.  and  11. ;  for  the  people, 
unaccustomed  to  imposts,  and  regarding  them  as  an  un- 
just aggression  upon  their  ancient  liberties,  made  no 
scruple  to  elude  them  whenever  it  was  possible  to  do  so. 
The  county  of  Fife,  bounded  by  the  two  firths  on  the 
south  and  north,  and  by  the  sea  on  the  east,  and  having 
a  number  of  small  seaports,  was  long  famed  for  main- 
taining successfully  a  contraband  trade;  and,  as  there 
were  many  seafaring  men  residing  there,  who  had  been 
pirates  and  buccaneers  in  their  youth,  there  were  not 
wanting  a  sufficient  number  of  daring  men  to  carry  it  on. 
Among  these,  a  fellow  called  Andrew  Wilson,  originally 
a  baker  in  the  village  of  Pathhead,  was  particularly 
obnoxious  to  the  revenue  officers.  He  was  possessed  of 
great  personal  strength,  courage,  and  cunning, — was 
perfectly  acquainted  with  the  coast,  and  capable  of  con- 
ducting the  most  desperate  enterprises.  On  several  oc- 
casions he  succeeded  in  baffling  the  pursuit  and  researches 
of  the  king's  officers;  but  he  became  so  much  the  object 
of  their  suspicious  and  watchful  attention,  that  at  length 
he  was  totally  ruined  by  repeated  seizures.  The  man 
became  desperate.  He  considered  himself  as  robbed  and 
plundered;  and  took  it  into  his  head  that  he  had  a  right 
to  make  reprisals,  as  he  could  find  opportunity.  Where 
the  heart  is  prepared  for  evil,  opportunity  is  seldom  long 
wanting.  This  Wilson  learned,  that  the  Collector  of  the 
Customs  at  Kirkcaldy  had  come  to  Pittenweem,  in  the 
course  of  his  official  round  of  duty,  with  a  considerable 
sum  of  public  money  in  his  custody.  As  the  amount  was 
greatly  within  the  value  of  the  goods  which  had  been 
seized  from  him,  Wilson  felt  no  scruple  of  conscience  in 
resolving  to  reimburse  himself  for  his  losses,  at  the 
expense  of  the  Collector  and  the  revenue.     He  associated 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  37 

ith  himself  one  Kobertson,  ami  two  other  idle  young 
len,  whom,  having  been  concerned  in  the  same  illicit 
'ade,  he  jHTsuaded  to  view  the  tranj^action  in  the  same 
istitiable  light  in  which  he  himself  considered  it.  They 
atched  the  motions  of  the  Collector;  they  broke  forcibly  [ 
ito  the  house  where  he  lodged, — Wilson,  with  two  of  his 
ssoeiates,  entering  the  Collector's  apartment,  while 
Robertson,  the  fourth,  kept  watch  at  the  door  with  a 
rawn  cutlass  in  his  hand.  The  officer  of  the  customs, 
>nceiving  his  life  in  danger,  escaped  out  of  his  bedroom 
indow,  and  tied  in  his  shirt,  so  that  the  plunderers,  with 
luch  ease,  possessed  themselves  of  about  two  hundred 
Dunds  of  public  money.     This  robbery  was  committed  in 

very  audacious  manner,  for  several  persons  were  pass- 
ig  in  the  street  at  the  time.  But  Robertson,  representing 
le  noise  they  heard  as  a  dispute  or  fray  betwixt  the 
bllector  and  the  people  of  the  house,  the  worthy  citizens 
f  Pittenweem  felt  themselves  no  way  called  on  to  inter- 
^re  in  behalf  of  the  obnoxious  revenue  officer;  so,  satis- 
ring  themselves  with  this  very  superficial  account  of  the 
latter,  like  the  Levite  in  the  parable,  they  passed  on  the 
pposite  side  of  the  w^ay.  An  alarm  was  at  length  given, 
lilitary  were  called  in,  the  depredators  were  pursued,  the 
ooty  recovered,  and  Wilson  and  Robertson  tried  and 
Dndemned  to  death,  chiefly  on  the  evidence  of  an 
ccomplice. 

Many  thought,  that,  in  consideration  of  the  men's 
rroneous  opinion  of  the  nature  of  the  action  they  had 
^mmitted,  justice  might  have  been  satisfied  with  a  less 
:)rfeiture  than  that  of  two  lives.  On  the  other  hand, 
rom  the  audacity  of  the  fact,  a  severe  example  was 
adged  necessary;  and  such  was  the  opinion  of  the  gov- 
mment.  When  it  became  apparent  that  the  sentence  of 
eath  was  to  be  executed,  files,  and  other  implements 
ecessary  for  their  escape,  were  transmitted  secretly  to 
ae  culprits  by  a  friend  from  without.  By  these  means 
hey  sawed  a  bar  out  of  one  of  the  prison-windows,  and 
light  have  made  their  escape  but  for  the  obstinacy  of 
Wilson  who,  as  he  was  daringly  resolute,  was  doggedly 
ertinacious  of  his  opinion.  His  comrade,  Robertson,  a 
oung  and  slender  man,  proposed  to  make  the  experi- 
lent  of  passing  the  foremost  through  the  gap  they  had 


38  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

made,  and  enlarging  it  from  the  outside,  if  necessary,  to 
allow  Wilson  free  passage.  Wilson,  however,  insisted  on 
making  the  first  experiment,  and  being  a  robust  and 
lusty  man,  he  not  only  found  it  impossible  to  get  through 
betwixt  the  bars,  but,  by  his  struggles,  he  jammed  him- 
self so  fast,  that  he  was  unable  to  draw  his  body  back 
again.  In  these  circumstances  discovery  became  un- 
avoidable, and  sufficient  precautions  were  taken  by  the 
jailer  to  prevent  any  repetition  of  the  same  attempt. 
Robertson  uttered  not  a  word  of  reflection  on  his  com- 
panion for  the  consequences  of  his  obstinacy;  but  it  ap- 
peared from  the  sequel,  that  Wilson's  mind  was  deeply 
impressed  with  the  recollection,  that,  but  for  him,  his 
comrade,  over  whose  mind  he  exercised  considerable  in- 
fluence, would  not  have  engaged  in  the  criminal  enterprise 
which  had  terminated  thus  fatally;  and  that  now  he  had 
become  his  destroyer  a  second  time,  since,  but  for  his 
obstinacy,  Robertson  might  have  effected  his  escape. 
Minds  like  Wilson's,  even  when  exercised  in  evil  prac- 
tices, sometimes  retain  the  power  of  thinking  and  resolv- 
ing with  enthusiastic  generosity.  His  whole  thoughts 
were  now  bent  on  the  possibility  of  saving  Robertson's 
life,  without  the  least  respect  to  his  own.  The  resolution 
which  he  adopted,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  carried  it 
into  effect,  were  striking  and  unusual. 

Adjacent  to  the  tolbooth  or  city  jail  of  Edinburgh,  is 
one  of  three  churches  into  which  the  cathedral  of  St. 
Giles  is  now  divided,  called,  from  its  vicinity,  the  Tol- 
booth Church.  It  was  the  custom,  that  criminals  under 
sentence  of  death  were  brought  to  this  church,  with  a 
sufficient  guard,  to  hear  and  join  in  public  worship  on 
the  Sabbath  before  execution.  It  was  supposed  that  the 
hearts  of  these  unfortunate  persons,  however  hardened 
before  against  feelings  of  devotion,  could  not  but  be 
accessible  to  them  upon  uniting  their  thoughts  and 
voices,  for  the  last  time,  along  with  their  fellow-mortals, 
in  addressing  their  Creator.  And  to  the  rest  of  the  con- 
gregation, it  was  thought  it  could  not  but  be  impressive 
and  affecting,  to  find  their  devotions  mingling  with  those, 
who,  sent  by  the  doom  of  an  earthly  tribunal  to  appear 
where  the  whole  earth  is  judged,  might  be  considered  as 
beings  trembling  on  the  verge  of  eternity.     The  practice, 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTIIIAX  39 

however  edifying:,  has  been  discontinued,  in  consequence 
of  the  incident   we  are  about   to  detail. 

The  clerjr>inan,  whose  duty  it  was  to  officiate  in  the 
Tolbooth  Church,  had  conchided  an  affecting  discourse, 
part  of  which  was  particularly  directed  to  the  unfortunate 
men,  Wilson  and  Robertson,  who  wore  in  the  pew  set 
apart  for  the  persons  in  their  unhappy  situation,  each 
secured  betwixt  two  soldiers  of  the  city  guard.  The 
clergyman  had  reminded  them,  that  the  next  congregation 
they  must  join  would  be  that  of  the  just,  or  of  the  unjust: 
that  the  psalms  they  now  heard  must  be  exchanged,  in 
the  space  of  two  brief  days,  for  eternal  hallelujahs,  or 
eternal  lamentations;  and  that  this  fearful  alternative 
must  dep<^nd  upon  the  state  to  which  they  might  be  able 
to  bring  their  minds  before  the  moment  of  awful  prepara- 
tion: that  they  should  not  despair  on  account  of  the 
suddenness  of  the  summons,  but  rather  to  feel  this  com- 
fort in  their  misery,  that,  though  all  who  now  lifted  the 
voice,  or  bent  the  knee  in  conjunction  with  them,  lay 
under  the  same  sentence  of  certain  death,  they  only  had 
the  advantage  of  knowing  the  precise  moment  at  which 
it  should  be  executed  upon  them.  "Therefore,"  urged  the 
good  man,  his  voice  trembling  with  emotion,  "redeem  the 
time,  my  unhappy  brethren,  which  is  yet  left ;  and  remem- 
ber, that,  with  the  grace  of  Him  to  whom  space  and  time 
are  but  as  nothing,  salvation  may  yet  be  assured,  even 
in  the  pittance  of  delay  which  the  laws  of  your  country 
afford  you." 

Robert«:on  was  obser\^ed  to  weep  at  these  words;  but 
Wilson  seemed  as  one  whose  brain  had  not  entirely  re- 
ceived their  meaning,  or  whose  thoughts  were  deeply 
impressed  with  some  different  subject ; — an  expression  so 
natural  to  a  person  in  his  situation,  that  it  excited  neither 
suspicion   nor   surprise. 

The  benediction  was  pronounced  as  usual,  and  the 
congregation  was  dismissed,  many  lingering  to  indulge 
their  curiosity  with  a  more  fixed  look  at  the  two  criminals, 
who  now,  as  well  as  their  guards,  rose  up,  as  if  to  depart 
when  the  crowd  should  permit  them.  A  murmur  of  com- 
passion was  heard  to  pervade  the  spectators,  the  more 
general,  perhaps,  on  account  of  the  alleviating  circum- 
stances of  the  case;  when  all  at  once,  Wilson,  who,  as  we 


40  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

have  already  noticed,  was  a  Terr  strong  man,  seized  two 
of  the  soldiers,  one  with  each  hand,  and  calling'  at  the 
same  time  to  his  companion,  ^'Run,  Geordie,  run!''  threw 
himself  on  a  third,  and  fastened  his  teeth  on  the  collar 
of  his  coat.  Robertson  stood  for  a  second  as  if  thunder- 
struck, and  unable  to  avail  himself  of  the  opportunity  of 
escape;  but  the  cry  of  "Run,  run!"  being  echoed  from 
many  around,  whose  feelings  suri^rised  them  into  a  very 
natural  interest,  in  his  behalf,  he  shook  off  the  grasp  of 
the  remaining  soldier,  threw  himself  over  the  pew,  mixed 
with  the  dispersing  congregation,  none  of  whom  felt  in- 
clined to  stop  a  poor  wretch  taking  this  last  chance  for 
his  life,  gained  the  door  of  the  church,  and  was  lost  to  all 
pursuit. 

The  generous  intrepidity  which  Wilson  had  displayed 
on  this  occasion  augmented  the  feeling  of  compassion 
which  attended  his  fate.  The  public,  where  their  own 
prejudices  are  not  concerned,  are  easily  engaged  on  the 
side  of  disinterestedness  and  humanity,  admired  Wilson's 
behavior,  and  rejoiced  in  Robertson's  escape.  This  gen- 
eral feeling  was  so  great,  that  it  excited  a  vague  report 
that  Wilson  would  be  rescued  at  the  place  of  execution, 
either  by  the  mob  or  by  some  of  his  old  associates,  or  by 
some  second  extraordinary  and  unexpected  exertion  of 
strength  and  courage  on  his  own  part.  The  magistrates 
thought  it  their  duty  to  provide  against  the  possibility  of 
disturbance.  They  ordered  out,  for  protection  of  the 
execution  of  the  sentence,  the  greater  part  of  their  own 
City  Guard,  under  the  command  of  Captain  Porteous,  a 
man  whose  name  became  too  memorable  from  the  melan- 
choly circumstances  of  the  day,  and  subsequent  events. 
It  may  be  necessary  to  say  a  word  about  this  person,  and 
the  corps  which  he  commanded.  But  the  subject  is  of 
importance   sufficient   to  deserve   another   chapter. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTUIAX  41 


CHAPTER   III 

And  thou,  great  pod  of  aqua-vitae! 
Wha  sways  the  empire  of  this  city, 
(When    fou    we're   sometimes   capernoity,) 

Be  thou  prepared. 
To  save  us  frae  that  hlack  banditti. 

The  City  Guard! 

Ferguson's  Daft  Days. 

Captafs'  John-  Porteous,  a  name  memorable  in  the  tradi- 
tions of  Edinburgh,  as  well  as  in  the  records  of  criminal 
jurisprudence,  was  the  son  of  a  citizen  of  Edinburgh,  who 
endeavored  to  breed  him  up  to  his  own  mechanical  trade 
of  a  tailor.  The  youth,  however,  had  a  wild  and  irreclaim- 
able propensity  to  dissipation,  which  finally  sent  him  to 
serve  in  the  corps  long  maintained  in  the  service  of  the 
States  of  Holland,  and  called  the  Scotch  Dutch.  Here 
he  learned  military  discipline;  and.  returning  afterward, 
in  the  course  of  an  idle  and  wandering  life,  to  his  native 
city,  his  sendees  were  required  by  the  magistrates  of 
Edinburgh  in  the  disturbed  year  1715,  for  disciplining 
their  City  Guard,  in  which  he  shortly  afterward  received 
a  captain's  commission.  It  was  only  by  his  military-  skill, 
and  an  alert  and  resolute  character  as  an  officer  of  police, 
that  he  merited  this  promotion,  for  he  is  said  to  have  been 
a  man  of  profligate  habits,  an  unnatural  son,  and  a  brutal 
husband.  He  was,  however,  useful  in  his  station,  and  his 
harsh  and  fierce  habits  rendered  him  formidable  to  rioters 
or  disturbers  of  the  public  peace. 

The  corps  in  which  he  held  his  command  is,  or  perhaps 
we  should  rather  say  iras,  a  body  of  about  one  hundnMl 
and  twenty  soldiers,  divided  into  three  companies,  and 
regularly  armed,  clothed,  and  embodied.  They  were 
chiefly  veterans  who  enlisted  in  this  corps,  having  the 
benefit  of  working  at  their  trades  when  they  were  ofl" 
duty.  These  men  had  the  charge  of  preserving  public 
order,  reproesing  riots  and  street  robberies,  acting,  in 
short,  as  an  armed  police,  and  attending  on  all  public 
occasions  where  confusion  or  popular  disturbance  might 


42  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  j 

be  expected.*  Poor  Ferguson,  whose  irregularities  some-  ! 
times  led  him  into  unpleasant  rencontres  with  these  mili-  : 
tary  conservators  of  public  order,  and  who  mentions  them  ; 
so  often  that  he  may  be  termed  their  poet  laureate,  thus  ; 
admonishes  his  readers,  warned  doubtless  by  his  own  ex-  . 
perience :  ' 

"Gude  folk,  as  ye  come  frae  the  fair, 

Bide  yont  frae  this  black  squad;  i 

There's  nae  sic  savages  elsewhere  ■■ 

Allow'd  to  wear  cockad."  , 

In  fact,  the  soldiers  of  the  City  Guard,  being,  as  we  ' 
have  said,  in  general  discharged  veterans,  who  had  i 
strength  enough  remaining  for  this  municipal  duty,  and  j 
being,  moreover,  for  the  greater  part,  Highlanders,  were  ■ 
neither  by  birth,  education,  nor  former  habits,  trained  to  ^ 
endure  with  much  patience  the  insults  of  the  rabble,  or  j 
the  provoking  petulance  of  truant  schoolboys,  and  idle  ; 
debauchees  of  all  descriptions,  with  whom  their  occupa-  i 
tion  brought  them  into  contact.  On  the  contrary,  the  ■ 
tempers  of  the  poor  old  fellows  were  soured  by  the  indig-  i 
nities  with  which  the  mob  distinguished  them  on  many  j 
occasions,  and  frequently  might  have  required  the  sooth-  I 
ing  strains  of  the  poet  we  have  just  quoted —  I 

"0  soldiers !  for  your  ain  dear  sakes, 

For  Scotland's  love,  the  Land  o'  Cakes,  • 

Gie  not  her  bairns  sic  deadly  paiks,  •; 

Nor  be  sae  rude, 

Wi'  firelock  or  Lochaber-axe,  -J 

As  spill  their  bluid!"  ; 

On  all  occasions  when  a  holiday  licensed  some  riot  and 

irregularity,  a  skirmish  with  these  veterans  was  a  favorite  ^ 

recreation  with  the  rabble  of  Edinburgh.     These  pages  i 

may  perhaps  see  the  light  when  many  have  in  fresh  recol-  ' 

lection  such  onsets  as  we  allude  to.     But  the  venerable  ' 

corps,  with  whom  the  contention  was  held,  may  now  be  j 

considered  as  totally  extinct.    Of  late  the  gradual  diminu-  i 

tion  of  these  civic  soldiers  reminds  one  of  the  abatement    i 

I 

*  The  Lord  Provost  was  ex-officio  commander  and  colonel  of  the  corps 

which  might  be  increased  to  three  hundred  men  when  the  times  required  , 

it.     No  other  drum  but  theirs  was  allowed  to  sound  on  the  High  Street  I 

between  the  Luckenbooths  and  the  Netherbow.  • 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  43 

of  King  Lear's  hundred  knights.  The  edicts  of  each  suc- 
ceeding set  of  magistrates  have,  like  those  of  Goneril  and 
Kegan,  diminished  this  venerable  band  with  the  similar 
question,  "What  need  we  live  and  twenty?  —  ten?  —  or 
tive  ?''  And  it  is  now  nearly  come  to,  "What  need  one  ?" 
A  spectre  may  indeed  here  and  there  still  be  seen,  of  an 
old  gray-headed  and  gray-bearded  Highlander,  with  war- 
worn features,  but  bent  double  by  age;  dressed  in  an  old- 
fashioned  cocked  hat,  bound  with  white  tai>e  instead  of 
silver  lace;  and  in  coat,  waistcoat,  and  breeches  of  a 
muddy-colored  red,  bearing  in  his  withered  hand  an 
ancient  weapon,  called  a  Lochaber-axe;  a  long  pole,  name- 
ly, with  an  axe  at  the  extremity,  and  a  hook  at  the  back 
of  the  hatchet.*  Such  a  phantom  of  former  days  still 
creeps,  I  have  been  informed,  round  the  statue  of  Charles 
the  Second,  in  the  Parliament  Square,  as  if  the  imaize  of 
a  Stewart  were  the  last  refuge  for  any  memorial  of  our 
ancient  manners;  and  one  or  two  others  are  supposed  to 
glide  around  the  door  of  the  guard-house  assigned  to  them 
in  the  Luckenbooths,  when  their  ancient  refuge  in  the 
High  Street  was  laid  low.f  But  the  fate  of  manuscripts 
bequeathed  to  friends  and  executors  is  so  uncertain,  that 
the  narrative  containing  these  frail  memorials  of  the 
old  Town  Guard  of  Edinburgh,  who,  with  their  grim  and 
valiant  corporal,  John  Dhu  (the  fiercest-looking  fellow  I 
ever  saw),  were,  in  my  boyhood,  the  alternate  terror  and 
derision  of  the  petulant  brood  of  the  High  School,  may, 
perhaps,  only  come  to  light  when  all  memory  of  the  in- 
stitution has  faded  away,  and  then  serve  as  an  illustration 
of  Kay's  caricatures,  who  has  preserved  the  features  of 
some  of  their  heroes.  In  the  preceding  generation,  when 
there  was  a  perpetual  alarm  for  the  plots  and  activity  of 
the  Jacobites,  some  pains  were  taken  by  the  magistrates 

*  This  hook  was  to  enable  the  bearer  of  the  Lochaber-axe  to  scale 
a  gateway,  by  grappling  the  top  of  the  door,  and  swinging  himself  up 
by  the  staff  of  his  weapon. 

■h  This  ancient  corps  is  now  entirely  disbanded.  Their  last  march  to 
do  duty  at  Hallow-fair,  had  something  in  it  affecting.  Their  drums  and 
fifes  had  T»ecn  wont  on  better  days  to  play,  on  this  joyous  occasion,  the 
lively   tune    of 

"Jockey  to  the  fair;" 

but  on  this  final  occasion  the  afflicted  veterans  moved  slowly  to  the 
dirge    of 

"The  last  time  I  came  owcr  the  muir." 


44  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

of  Edinburgh  to  keep  this  corps,  though  composed  always 
of  such  materials  as  we  have  noticed,  in  a  more  effective 
state  than  was  afterward  judged  necessary,  when  their 
most  dangerous  service  was  to  skirmish  with  the  rabble 
on  the  king's  birthday.  They  were,  therefore,  more  the 
objects  of  hatred,  and  less  that  of  scorn,  than  they  were 
afterward  accounted. 

To  Captain  John  Porteous,  the  honor  of  his  command 
and  of  his  corps  seems  to  have  been  a  matter  of  high 
interest  and  importance.  He  was  exceedingly  incensed 
against  Wilson  for  the  affront  which  he  construed  him 
to  have  put  upon  his  soldiers,  in  the  effort  he  made  for  the 
liberation  of  his  companion,  and  expressed  himself  most 
ardently  on  the  subject.  He  was  no  less  indignant  at 
the  report,  that  there  was  an  intention  to  rescue  Wilson 
himself  from  the  gallows,  and  uttered  many  threats  and 
imprecations  upon  that  subject,  which  were  afterward 
remembered  to  his  disadvantage.  In  fact,  if  a  good  deal 
of  determination  and  promptitude  rendered  Porteous,  in 
one  respect,  lit  to  command  guards  designed  to  suppress 
popular  commotion,  he  seems,  on  the  other,  to  have  been 
disqualified  for  a  charge  so  delicate,  by  a  hot  and  surly 
temper,  always  too  ready  to  come  to  blows  and  violence; 
a  character  void  of  principle;  and  a  disposition  to  regard 
the  rabble,  who  seldom  failed  to  regale  him  and  his 
soldiers  with  some  marks  of  their  displeasure,  as  de- 
clared enemies,  upon  whom  it  was  natural  and  justifiable 
that  he  should  seek  opportunities  of  vengeance.  Being, 
however,  the  most  active  and  trustworthy  among  the  cap- 
tains of  the  City  Guard,  he  was  the  person  to  whom  the 
magistrates  confided  the  command  of  the  soldiers  ap- 
pointed to  keep  the  peace  at  the  time  of  Wilson's  execu- 
tion. He  was  ordered  to  guard  the  gallows  and  scaffold, 
with  about  eighty  men,  all  the  disposable  force  that  could 
be  spared  for  that  duty. 

But  the  magistrates  took  farther  precautions,  which 
affected  Porteous's  pride  very  deeply.  They  requested  the 
assistance  of  part  of  a  regular  infantry  regiment,  not  to 
attend  upon  the  execution,  but  to  remain  drawn  up  on  the 
principal  street  of  the  city,  during  the  time  that  it  went 
forward,  in  order  to  intimidate  the  multitude,  in  case 
they  should  be  disposed  to  be  unruly,  with  a  display  of 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  45  1 

force  which  could  not  be  resisted  without  desperation.  It  ] 
may  sound  ridiculous  in  our  ears,  considering  the  fallen  '' 
state  of  this  ancient  civic  corps,  that  its  officer  should  i 
have  felt  punctiliously  jealous  of  its  honor.  Yet  so  it  was.  j 
Captain  Porteous  resented,  as  an  indignity,  the  intro-  ] 
ducing"  the  Welsh  Fusileers  within  the  city,  and  drawing  ' 
them  up  in  the  street  where  no  drums  but  his  own  were  j 
allowed  to  be  sounded,  without  the  special  command  or  j 
permission  of  the  magistrates./  As  he  could  not  show  his  i 
ill-humor  to  his  patrons  the  magistrates,  it  increased  his  | 
indignation  and  his  desire  to  be  revenged  on  the  un-  ; 
fortunate  criminal  Wilson,  and  all  who  favored  him.  ] 
These  internal  emotions  of  jealousy  and  rage  wrought  a 
change  on  the  man's  mien  and  bearing,  visible  to  all  who  i 
saw  him  on  the  fatal  morning  when  Wilson  was  appointed  j 
to  surfer.  Porteous's  ordinary  appearance  was  rather ' 
favorable.  He  was  about  the  middle  size,  stout,  and  well  i 
made,  having  a  military  air,  and  yet  rather  a  gentle  and ' 
mild  countenance.  His  complexion  was  brown,  his  face  i 
somewhat  fretted  with  the  scars  of  the  smallpox,  his  eyes 
rather  languid  than  keen  or  fierce.  On  the  present  occa- 1 
sion,  however,  it  seemed  to  those  who  saw  him  as  if  he ' 
were  agitated  by  some  evil  demon.  His  step  was  irregular,  i 
his  voice  hollow  and  broken,  his  countenance  pale,  his  eyes  ' 
staring  and  wild,  his  speech  imperfect  and  confused,  and  j 
his  whole  appearance  so  disordered,  that  many  remarked  \ 
he  seemed  to  be  fey,  a  Scottish  expression  meaning  the  ] 
state  of  those  who  are  driven  on  to  their  impending  fate : 
by  the  strong  impulse  of  some  irresistible  necessity.  \ 

One  part  of  his  conduct  was  truly  diabolical,  if,  indeed,! 
it  has  not  been  exaggerated  by  the  general  prejudice  en-j 
tertained  against  his  memory.  When  Wilson,  the  unhappy 
criminal,  was  delivered  to  him  by  the  keeper  of  the] 
prison,  in  order  that  Le  might  be  conducted  to  the  place! 
of  execution,  Porteous,  not  satisfied  with  the  usual  pre-| 
cautions  to  prevent  escape,  ordered  him  to  be  manacled.! 
This  might  be  justifiable  from  the  character  and  bodily' 
strength  of  the  malefactor,  as  well  as  from  the  apprehen- 
sions so  generally  entertained  of  an  expected  rescue.  But' 
the  handcufl's  which  were  produced  being  found  too  small! 
for  the  wrists  of  a  man  so  big-boned  as  Wilson,  Porteous, 
proceeded  with  his  f»\vn  hands,  and  by  great  exertion  of: 

I 

) 

I 

I 


46  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

strength,  to  force  them  till  they  clasped  together,  to  the 
exquisite  torture  of  the  unhappy  criminal.  Wilson  remon- 
strated against  such  barbarous  usage,  declaring  that  the 
pain  distracted  his  thoughts  from  the  subjects  of  medita- 
tion proper  to  his  unhappy  condition. 

"It  signifies  little,"  replied  Captain  Porteous;  "your 
pain  will  be  soon  at  an  end." 

"Your  cruelty  is  great,"  answered  the  sufferer.  "You 
know  not  how  soon  you  yourself  may  have  occasion  to  ask 
the  mercy,  which  you  are  now  refusing  to  a  fellow-crea- 
ture.    May  God  forgive  you!" 

These  words,  long  afterward  quoted  and  remembered, 
were  all  that  passed  between  Porteous  and  his  prisoner; 
but  as  they  took  air,  and  became  known  to  the  people,  they 
greatly  increased  the  popular  compassion  for  Wilson,  and 
excited  a  proportionate  degree  of  indignation  against 
Porteous ;  against  whom,  as  strict,  and  even  violent  in  the 
discharge  of  his  unpopular  office,  the  common  people  had 
some  real,  and  many  imaginary,  causes  of  complaint. 

When  the  painful  procession  was  completed,  and 
Wilson,  with  the  escort,  had  arrived  at  the  scaffold  in  the 
Grassmarket,  there  appeared  no  signs  of  that  attempt  to 
rescue  him  which  had  occasioned  such  precautions.  The 
multitude,  in  general,  looked  on  with  deeper  interest  than 
at  ordinary  executions;  and  there  might  be  seen,  on  the 
countenances  of  many,  a  stern  and  indignant  expression, 
like  that  with  which  the  ancient  Cameronians  might  be 
supposed  to  witness  the  execution  of  their  brethren,  who 
glorified  the  Covenant  on  the  same  occasion,  and  at  the 
same  spot.  But  there  was  no  attempt  at  violence.  Wilson 
himself  seemed  disposed  to  hasten  over  the  space  that 
divided  time  from  eternity.  The  devotions  proper  and 
usual  on  such  occasions  were  no  sooner  finished  than  he 
submitted  to  his  fate,  and  the  sentence  of  the  law  was 
fulfilled. 

He  had  been  suspended  on  the  gibbet  so  long  as  to  be 
totally  deprived  of  life,  when  at  once,  as  if  occasioned  by 
some  newly-received  impulse,  there  arose  a  tumult  among 
the  multitude.  Many  stones  were  thrown  at  Porteous  and 
his  guards;  some  mischief  was  done;  and  the  mob  con- 
tinued to  press  forward  with  whoops,  shrieks,  howls,  and 
exclamations.  A  young  fellow,  with  a  sailor's  cap  slouched 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAX  47 

over  his  face,  sprung  on  the  scaffold,  and  cut  the  rope  by 
which  the  criminal  was  suspended.  Others  approached  to 
carry  olf  the  body,  either  to  secure  for  it  a  decent  frrave, 
or  to  try,  perhaps,  some  means  of  resuscitation.  Captain 
Porteous  was  wrought,  by  this  appearance  of  insurrection 
against  his  authority,  into  a  rage  so  headlong  as  made 
him  forget,  that,  the  sentence  having  been  fully  executed, 
it  was  his  duty  not  to  engage  in  hostilities  with  the  mis- 
guided multitude,  but  to  draw  off  his  men  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible. He  sprung  from  the  scaffold,  snatched  a  musket 
from  one  of  his  soldiers,  commanded  the  party  to  give  fire, 
and,  as  several  eye-witnesses  concurred  in  swearing,  set 
them  the  example,  by  discharging  his  piece,  and  shooting 
a  man  dead  on  the  spot.  Several  soldiers  obeyed  his  com- 
mand or  followed  his  example;  six  or  seven  persons  were 
slain,  and  a  great  many  were  hurt  and  wounded. 

After  this  act  of  violence,  the  Captain  proceeded  to 
withdraw  his  men  toward  their  guard-house  in  the  High 
Street.  The  mob  were  not  so  much  intimidated  as 
incensed  by  what  had  been  done.  They  pursued  the 
soldiers  with  execrations,  accompanied  by  volleys  of 
stones.  As  they  pressed  on  them,  the  rearmost  soldiers 
turned,  and  again  fired  with  fatal  aim  and  execution.  It 
is  not  accurately  known  whether  Porteous  commanded 
this  second  act  of  violence;  but  of  course  the  odium  of  the 
whole  transactions  of  the  fatal  day  attached  to  him,  and 
to  him  alone.  He  arrived  at  the  guard-house,  dismissed 
his  soldiers,  and  went  to  make  his  report  to  the  magistrates 
concerning  the  unfortunate  events  of  the  day. 

Apparently  by  this  time  Captain  Porteous  had  begun  to 
doubt  the  propriety  of  his  own  conduct,  and  the  reception 
he  met  with  from  the  magistrates  was  such  as  to  make 
him  still  more  anxious  to  gloss  it  over.  He  denied  that 
he  had  given  orders  to  fire;  he  denied  he  had  fired  with  his 
own  hand;  he  even  produced  the  fusee  which  he  carried 
as  an  officer  for  examination;  it  was  found  still  loaded. 
Of  three  cartridges  which  ho  was  seen  to  put  in  his  pouch 
that  morning,  two  were  still  there;  a  white  handkerchief 
was  thrust  into  the  muzzle  of  the  piece,  and  returned  un- 
soiled  or  bhickened.  To  the  defence  founded  on  these 
circumstances  it  was  answered,  that  Porteous  had  not 
used  his  own  piece,  but  had  been  seen  to  take  one  from  a 


48  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

soldier.  Among  the  many  who  had  been  killed  and 
wounded  by  the  unhappy  fire,  there  were  several  of  better 
rank;  for  even  the  humanity  of  such  soldiers  as  fired  over 
the  heads  of  the  mere  rabble  around  the  scaffold,  proved 
in  some  instances  fatal  to  persons  who  were  stationed  in 
windows,  or  observed  the  melancholy  scene  from  a  dis- 
tance. The  voice  of  public  indignation  was  loud  and  gen- 
eral; and,  ere  men's  tempers  had  time  to  cool,  the  trial 
of  Captain  Porteous  took  place  before  the  High  Court  of 
Justiciary.  After  a  long  and  patient  hearing,  the  jury 
had  the  difficult  duty  of  balancing  the  positive  evidence 
of  many  persons,  and  those  of  respectability,  who  deposed 
positively  to  the  prisoner's  commanding  his  soldiers  to 
fire,  and  himself  firing  his  piece,  of  which  some  swore 
that  they  saw  the  smoke  and  flash,  and  beheld  a  man  drop 
at  whom  it  was  pointed,  with  the  negative  testimony  of 
others,  who,  though  well  stationed  for  seeing  what  had 
passed,  neither  heard  Porteous  give  orders  to  fire  nor  saw 
him  fire  himself;  but  on  the  contrary,  averred  that  the  first 
shot  was  fired  by  a  soldier  who  stood  close  by  him.  A 
great  part  of  his  defence  was  also  founded  on  the  tur- 
bulence of  the  mob,  which  witnesses,  according  to  their 
feelings,  their  predilections,  and  their  opportunities  of 
observation,  represented  differently;  some  describing  as  a 
formidable  riot  what  others  represented  as  a  trifling  dis- 
turbance, such  as  always  used  to  take  place  on  the  like 
occasions,  when  the  executioner  of  the  law,  and  the  men 
commissioned  to  protect  him  in  his  task,  were  generally 
exposed  to  some  indignities.  The  verdict  of  the  jury 
sufficiently  shows  how  the  evidence  preponderated  in  their 
minds.  It  declared  that  John  Porteous  fired  a  gun  among 
the  people  assembled  at  the  execution ;  that  he  gave  orders 
to  his  soldiers  to  fire,  by  which  many  persons  were  killed 
and  wounded;  but,  at  the  same  time,  that  the  prisoner 
and  his  guard  had  been  wounded  and  beaten,  by  stones 
thrown  at  them  by  the. multitude.  Upon  this  verdict,  the 
Lords  of  Justiciary  passed  sentence  of  death  against  Cap- 
tain John  Porteous,  adjudging  him,  in  the  common  form, 
to  be  hanged  on  a  gibbet  at  the  common  place  of  execu- 
tion, on  Wednesday,  8th  September,  1736,  and  all  his 
movable  property  to  be  forfeited  to  the  king's  use,  accord- 
ing to  the  Scottish  law  in  cases  of  wilful  murder. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  49 

CTTAPTF.R    TV 

The  hour's  come,  but   not  the  man." 

Kelf^is. 

Ox  the  clay  •when  the  unhappy  Portcous  was  expected  to 
suflfer  the  sentence  of  the  hiw,  the  place  of  execution, 
extensive  as  it  is.  was  crowded  almost  to  suffocation. 
There  was  not  a  window  in  all  the  lofty  tenements  around 
it,  or  in  the  steep  and  crooked  street  called  the  Bow,  by 
which  the  fatal  procession  was  to  descend  from  the  Iliffh 
Street,  that  was  not  absolutely  filled  with  spectators.  The 
uncommon  heijudit  and  antique  appearance  of  these  houses, 
some  of  which  were  formerly  the  property  of  the  Knifrhts 
Templars,  and  the  Kniphts  of  St.  John,  and  still  exhibit 
on  their  fronts  and  gables  the  iron  cross  of  these  orders, 
gave  additional  effect  to  a  scene  in  itself  so  striking.  The 
area  of  the  Grassmarket  resembled  a  huge  dark  lake  or 
sea  of  human  heads,  in  the  centre  of  which  arose  the 
fatal  tree,  tall,  black,  and  ominous,  from  which  dangled 
the  deadly  halter.  Every  object  takes  interest  from  its 
uses  and  associations,  and  the  erect  beam  and  empty 
noose,  things  so  simple  in  themselves,  became,  on  such  an 
occasion,  objects  of  terror  and  of  solemn  interest. 

Amid  so  numerous  an  assembly  there  was  scarcely  a 
word  spoken,  save  in  -whispers.  The  thirst  of  vengeance 
was  in  some  degree  allayed  by  its  supposed  certainty; 
and  even  the  populace,  with  deeper  feeling  than  they  are 
wont  to  entertain,  suppressed  all  clamorous  exultation, 
and  prepared  to  enjoy  the  scene  of  retaliation  in  triumph, 
silent  and  decent,  though  stern  and  relentless.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  depth  of  their  hatred  to  the  unfortunate  criminal 
scorned  to  display  itself  in  anything  resembling  the  more 
noisy  current  of  their  ordinary  feelings.  Had  a  stranger 
consulted  only  the  evidence  of  his  ears,  he  might  have 
supposed    that    so   vast   a   multitude    were   assembled    for 

*  There  is  a  traflition,  that  while  a  little  stream  was  swollen  into  a 
torrent  by  recent  showers,  the  discontented  voice  of  the  Water  Spirit 
was  heard  to  [ironounce  these  words.  At  the  same  moment,  a  Tiian, 
urged  on  by  his  fate,  or,  in  Scottish  lanffiiaRe.  fey,  arrived  at  a  gallop, 
and  prepared  to  cross  the  water.  No  remonstrance  from  tlic  bystanders 
was  of  power  to  stop  him — he  plunged  into  the  stream,  and  perished. 


50  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

some  purpose  which  affected  them  with  the  deepest  sorrow, 
and  stilled  those  noises  which,  on  all  ordinary  occasions, 
arise  from  such  a  concourse;  but  if  he  gazed  upon  their 
faces  he  would  have  been  instantly  undeceived.  The 
compressed  lip,  the  bent  brow,  the  stern  and  flashing  eye 
of  almost  every  one  on  whom  he  looked,  conveyed  the 
expression  of  men  come  to  glut  their  sight  with  trium- 
phant revenge.  It  is  probable  that  the  appearance  of  the 
criminal  might  have  somewhat  changed  the  temper  of 
the  populace  in  his  favor,  and  that  they  might  in  the 
moment  of  death  have  forgiven  the  man  against  whom 
their  resentment  had  been  so  fiercely  heated.  It  had, 
however,  been  destined,  that  the  mutability  of  their  senti- 
ments was  not  to  be  exposed  to  this  trial. 

The  usual  hour  for  producing  the  criminal  had  been 
past  for  many  minutes,  yet  the  spectators  observed  no 
symptom  of  his  appearance.  "Would  they  venture  to  de- 
fraud public  justice?"  was  the  question  which  men 
began  anxiously  to  ask  at  each  other.  The  first  answer  in 
every  case  was  bold  and  positive, — "They  dare  not."  But 
when  the  point  was  further  canvassed,  other  opinions 
were  entertained,  and  various  causes  of  doubt  were  sug- 
gested. Porteous  had  been  a  favorite  officer  of  the 
magistracy  of  the  city,  which,  being  a  numerous  and 
fluctuating  body,  requires  for  its  support  a  degree  of 
energy  in  its  functionaries  which  the  individuals  who 
compose  it  cannot  at  all  times  alike  be  supposed  to  possess 
in  their  own  persons.  It  was  remembered,  that  in  the 
Information  for  Porteous  (the  paper,  namely,  in  which 
his  case  was  stated  to  the  Judges  of  the  criminal  court), 
he  had  been  described  by  his  counsel  as  the  person  on 
whom  the  magistrates  chiefly  relied  in  all  emergencies 
of  uncommon  difficulty.  It  was  argued,  too,  that  his  con- 
duct, on  the  unhappy  occasion  of  Wilson's  execution,  was 
capable  of  being  attributed  to  an  imprudent  excess  of 
zeal  in  the  execution  of  his  duty,  a  motive  for  which 
those  under  whose  authority  he  acted  might  be  supposed 
to  have  great  sympathy.  And  as  these  considerations 
might  move  the  magistrates  to  make  a  favorable  repre- 
sentation of  Porteous's  case,  there  were  not  wanting 
others  in  the  higher  departments  of  government,  which 
would  make  such  suggestions  favorably  listened  to. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  51 

The  mob  of  Edinburgh,  when  thoroughly  excited,  had 
been  at  all  times  one  of  the  fiercest  which  could  be  found 
in  Europe;  and  of  late  years  they  had  risen  repeatedly 
against  the  government,  and  sometimes  not  without 
temporary  success.  They  were  conscious,  therefore,  that 
they  were  no  favorites  with  the  rulers  of  the  period,  and 
that,  if  Captain  Porteous's  violence  was  not  altogether 
regarded  as  good  service,  it  might  certainly  be  thought, 
that  to  visit  it  with  a  capital  punishment  would  render 
it  both  delicate  and  dangerous  for  future  officers,  in  the 
same  circumstances,  to  act  with  effect  in  repressing 
tumults.  There  is  also  a  natural  feeling,  on  the  part 
of  all  members  of  government,  for  the  general  mainte- 
nance of  authority;  and  it  seemed  not  unlikely,  that  what 
to  the  relatives  of  the  suiferers  appeared  a  wanton  and 
unprovoked  massacre,  should  be  otherwise  viewed  in  the 
cabinet  of  St.  James's.  It  might  be  there  supposed,  that, 
upon  the  whole  matter.  Captain  Porteous  was  in  the 
exercise  of  a  trust  delegated  to  him  by  the  lawful  civil 
authority ;  that  he  had  been  assaulted  by  the  populace,  and 
several  of  his  men  hurt;  and  that,  in  finally  repelling 
force  by  force,  his  conduct  could  be  fairly  imputed  to  no 
other  motive  than  self-defence  in  the  discharge  of  his 
jiuty. 

These  considerations,  of  themselves  very  powerful,  in- 
duced the  spectators  to  apprehend  the  possibility  of  a 
reprieve;  and  to  the  various  causes  which  might  interest 
the  rulers  in  his  favor,  the  lower  part  of  the  rabble  added 
one  which  was  peculiarly  well  adapted  to  their  compre- 
hension. It  was  averred,  in  order  to  increase  the  odium 
against  Porteous,  that  while  he  repressed  with  the  utmost 
severity  the  slightest  excesses  of  the  poor,  he  not  only 
overlooked  the  license  of  the  young  nobles  and  gentry, 
but  was  very  willing  to  lend  them  the  countenance  of  his 
official  authority,  in  execution  of  such  loose  pranks  as  it 
was  chiefly  his  duty  to  have  restrained.  This  suspicion, 
which  was  perhaps  much  exaggerated,  made  a  deep  im- 
pression on  the  minds  of  the  populace;  and  when  several 
of  the  higher  rank  joined  in  a  petition,  recommending 
Porteous  to  the  mercy  of  the  crown,  it  was  generally 
supposed  he  owed  their  favor  not  to  any  conviction  of  the 
hardship  of  his  case,  but  to  the  fear  of  losing  a  convenient 


52  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

accomplice  in  their  debaucheries.  It  is  scarcely  necessary 
to  say  how  much  this  suspicion  augmented  the  people's 
detestation  of  this  obnoxious  criminal,  as  well  as  their 
fear  of  his  escaping  the  sentence  pronounced  against 
him. 

While  these  arguments  were  stated  and  replied  to,  and 
canvassed  and  supported,  the  hitherto  silent  expectation 
of  the  people  became  changed  into  that  deep  and  agitating 
murmur,  which  is  sent  forth  by  the  ocean  before  the 
tempest  begins  to  howl.  The  crowded  populace,  as  if 
their  motions  had  corresponded  with  the  unsettled  state 
of  their  minds,  fluctuated  to  and  fro  without  any  visible 
cause  of  impulse,  like  the  agitation  of  the  waters,  called 
by  sailors  the  ground-swell.  The  news,  which  the  magis- 
trates had  almost  hesitated  to  communicate  to  them,  were 
at  length  announced,  and  spread  among  the  spectators 
with  a  rapidity  like  lightning.  A  reprieve  from  the 
Secretary  of  State's  office,  under  the  hand  of  his  Grace 
the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  had  arrived,  intimating  the  pleas- 
ure of  Queen  Caroline  (regent  of  the  kingdom  during  the 
absence  of  George  11.  on  the  Continent),  that  the  execu- 
tion of  the  sentence  of  death  pronounced  against  John 
Porteous,  late  Captain-Lieutenant  of  the  City  Guard  of 
Edinburgh,  present  prisoner  in  the  Tolbooth  of  that  city, 
be  respited  for  six  weeks  from  the  time  appointed  for  his 
execution. 

The  assembled  spectators  of  almost  all  degrees,  "V^hose 
minds  had  been  wound  up  to  the  pitch  which  we  have 
described,  uttered  a  groan,  or  rather  a  roar  of  indignation 
and  disappointed  revenge,  similar  to  that  of  a  tiger  from 
whom  his  meal  has  been  rent  by  his  keeper  when  he  was 
just  about  to  devour  it.  This  fierce  exclamation  seemed  to 
forebode  some  immediate  explosion  of  popular  resentment, 
and,  in  fact,  such  had  been  expected  by  the  magistrates, 
and  the  necessary  measures  had  been  taken  to  repress  it. 
But  the  shout  was  not  repeated,  nor  did  any  sudden 
tumult  ensue,  such  as  it  appeared  to  announce.  The  popu- 
lace seemed  to  be  ashamed  of  having  expressed  their  dis- 
appointment in  a  vain  clamor,  and  the  sound  changed, 
not  into  the  silence  which  had  preceded  the  arrival  of 
these  stunning  news,  but  into  stifled  mutterings,  which 
each  group  maintained  among  themselves,  and  which  were 


THE    HEART    OE    .MID-LOTHIAN  53 

blended  into  one  deep  and  hoarse  murmur  which  floated 
above  the  assembly. 

Yet  still,  though  all  expectation  of  the  execution  was 
over,  the  mob  remained  assembled,  stationary,  as  it  were, 
through  very  resentment,  gazing  on  the  preparations  for 
death,  which  had  now  been  made  in  vain,  and  stimulating 
their  feelings,  by  recalling  the  various  claims  which 
Wilson  might  have  had  on  royal  mercy,  from  the  mis- 
taken motives  on  which  he  acted,  as  well  as  from  the 
generosity  he  had  displayed  toward  his  accomplice.  "This 
man,"  they  said, — "the  brave,  the  resolute,  the  generous, 
was  executed  to  death  without  mercy  for  stealing  a  purse 
of  gold,  which  in  some  sense  he  might  consider  as  a  fair 
reprisal;  while  the  profligate  satellite,  who  took  advantage 
of  a  trifling  tumult,  inseparable  from  such  occasions,  to 
shed  the  blood  of  twenty  of  his  fellow-citizens,  is  deemed 
a  fitting  object  for  the  exercise  of  the  royal  prerogative 
of  mercy.  Is  this  to  be  borne? — would  our  fathers  have 
borne  it?  Are  not  we,  like  them,  Scotsmen  and  burghers 
of  Edinburgh?" 

The  officers  of  justice  began  now  to  remove  the  scaffold, 
and  other  preparations  which  had  been  made  for  the 
execution,  in  hopes,  by  doing  so,  to  accelerate  the  disper- 
sion of  the  multitude.  The  measure  had.  the  desired 
effect ;  for  no  sooner  had  the  fatal  tree  been  unfixed  from 
the  large  stone  pedestal  or  socket  in  which  it  was  secured, 
and  smik  slowly  down  upon  the  wain  intended  to  remove 
it  to  the  place  where  it  was  usually  deposited,  than  the 
populace,  after  giving  vent  to  their  feelings  in  a  second 
shout  of  rage  and  mortification,  began  slowly  to  disperse 
to  their  usual  abodes  and  occupations. 

The  windows  were  in  like  manner  gradually  deserted, 
and  groups  of  the  more  decent  class  of  citizens  formed 
themselves,  as  if  waiting  to  return  homeward  when  the 
streets  should  be  cleared  of  the  rabble.  Contrary  to  what 
is  frequently  the  case,  this  descrii)tion  of  persons  agreed 
in  general  with  the  sentiments  of  their  inferiors,  and  con- 
sidered the  cause  as  common  to  all  ranks.  Indeed,  as  wo 
have  already  noticed,  it  was  by  no  means  amongst  the 
lowest  class  of  the  spectators,  or  those  most  likely  to  be 
engaged  in  the  riot  at  Wilson's  execution,  that  the  fatal 
fire    of    Porteous's    soldiers    had    taken    effect.      Several 


54  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

i 
persons  were  killed  who  were  looking  out  of  windows  at  i 
tlie  scene,  who  could  not  of  course  belong  to  the  rioters,  ' 
and  were  persons  of  decent  rank  and  condition.  The 
burghers,  therefore,  resenting  the  loss  which  had  fallen  \ 
on  their  own  body,  and  proud  and  tenacious  of  their  \ 
rights,  as  the  citizens  of  Edinburgh  have  at  all  times  been, 
were  greatly  exasperated  at  the  unexpected  respite  of  Cap-  ! 
tain  Porteous. 

It  was  noticed  at  the  time,  and  afterward  more  i 
particularly  remembered,  that,  while  the  nfob  were  in  the  : 
act  of  dispersing,  several  individuals  were  seen  busily  - 
passing  from  one  place  and  one  group  of  people  to  an-  i 
other,  remaining  long  with  none,  but  whispering  for  a  ' 
little  time  with  those  who  appeared  to  be  declaiming  most  j 
violently  against  the  conduct  of  government.  These  active  ,| 
agents  had  the  appearance  of  men  from  the  country,  and  j 
were  generally  supposed  to  be  old  friends  and  confederates  j 
of  Wilson,  whose  minds  were  of  course  highly  excited  ; 
against  Porteous.  i 

If,  however,  it  was  the  intention  of  these  men  to  stir  j 
the  multitude  to  any  sudden  act  of  mutiny,  it  seemed  j 
for  the  time  to  be  fruitless.  The  rabble,  as  well  as  the  ' 
more  decent  part  of  the  assembly,  dispersed,  and  went  '■ 
home  peaceably;  and  it  was  only  by  observing  the  moody  ■ 
discontent  on  their  brows,  or  catching  the  tenor  of  the  ' 
conversation  they  held  with  each  other,  that  a  stranger  j 
could  estimate  the  state  of  their  minds.  We  will  give  the 
reader  this  advantage,  by  associating  ourselves  with  one  i 
of  the  numerous  groups  who  were  painfully  ascending  j 
the  steep  declivity  of  the  West  Bow,  to  return  to  their  ! 
dwellings  in  the  Lawnmarket. 

"An  unco   thing   this,   Mrs.   Howden,"   said  old  Peter     i 
Plumdamas  to   his  neighbor  the   rouping-wife,   or  sales- 
woman,  as  he  offered  her  his  arm  to   assist  her  in  the 
toilsome  ascent,  "to  see  the  grit  folk  at  Lunnon  set  their     i 
face  against  law  and  gospel,  and  let  loose  sic  a  reprobate     ■ 
as  Porteous  upon  a  peaceable  town !"  i 

"And  to  think  o'  the  weary  walk  they  hae  gien  us,"  an-  ! 
swered  Mrs.  Howden,  with  a  groan;  "and  sic  a  comfort-  i 
able  window  as  I  had  gotten,  too,  just  within  a  penny-  ^ 
stanjg-cast  of  the  scaffold — I  could  hae  heard  every  word     \ 


THE    HEART    OF    :MID-L0TH1AX  55 

the  minister  said— and  to  pay  twalpennies  for  my  stand, 
and  a'  for  naothing!'' 

^'I  am  judging,"  said  ^^Ir.  Plumdamas,  ''that  this  re- 
prieve wadna  stand  glide  in  the  auld  Scots  law,  when  the 
kingdom  iras  a  kingdom." 

'T  dinna  ken  muekle  about  the  law,"  answered  Mrs. 
Howden;  "but  I  ken,  when  we  had  a  king,  and  a  chancel- 
lor, and  parliament-men  o'  our  ain,  we  could  aye  peeble 
them  wi'  stanes  when  they  werena  gude  bairns — But 
naebody's  nails  can  reach  the  length  o'  Lunnon." 

''Weary  on  Lunnon,  and  a'  that  e'er  came  out  o't !"  said 
Miss  Grizel  Damahoy,  an  ancient  seamstress;  "they  hae 
taen  awa  our  parliament,  and  they  hae  oppressed  our 
trade.  Our  gentles  will  hardly  allow  that  a  Scots  needle 
can  sew  ruffles  on  a  sark,  or  lace  on  an  owerlay." 

"Ye  may  say  that,  Miss  Damahoy,  and  I  ken  o'  them 
that  hae  gotten  raisins  frae  Lunnon  by  forpits  at  ance," 
responded  Plumdamas;  "and  then  sic  an  host  of  idle 
English  gangers  and  excisemen  as  hae  come  down  to  vex 
and  torment  us,  that  an  honest  man  canna  fetch  sae 
muekle  as  a  bit  anker  o'  brandy  frae  Leith  to  the  Lawn- 
market,  but  he's  like  to  be  rubbit  o'  the  very  gudes  he's 
bought  and  paid  lor. — Weel,  I  winna  justify  Andrew 
Wilson  for  pitting  hands  on  what  wasna  his;  but  if  he 
took  nae  mair  than  his  ain,  there's  an  awfu'  difference 
between  that  an  the  fact  this  man  stands  for." 

"If  ye  speak  about  the  law,"  said  Mrs.  Howden,  "here 
comes  Mr.  Saddletree,  that  can  settle  it  as  weel  as  ony  on 
the  bench." 

The  party  she  mentioned,  a  grave  elderly  person,  with  a 
superb  periwig,  dressed  in  a  decent  suit  of  sad-colored 
clothes,  came  up  as  she  spoke,  and  courteously  gave  his 
arm  to  ^liss  Grizel  Damahoy. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  mention,  that  Mr.  Bartoline 
Saddletree  kept  an  excellent  and  highly  esteemed  shop  for 
harness,  saddles,  etc.,  etc.,  at  the  sign  of  the  Golden  Nag, 
at  the  head  of  Bess  Wynd.  His  genius,  however  (as  he 
himself  and  most  of  his  neighbors  conceived),  lay  toward 
the  weightier  matters  of  the  law.  and  he  failed  not  to  give 
frequent  attendance  upon  the  pleadings  and  arguments  of 
the  la^\'yers  and  judges  in  the  neighboring  square,  win 're. 
to  say  the  truth,  he  was  oftener  to  be  found  than  would 


56  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  : 

have  consisted  with  his  own  emokiment;  but  that  his  wife,, 
an  active  painstaking  person,  could,  in  his  absence,  make, 
an  admirable  shift  to  please  the  customers  and  scold  the; 
journeymen.  This  good  lady  was  in  the  habit  of  letting! 
her  husband  take  his  way,  and  go  on  improving  his  stock] 
of  legal  knowledge  without  interruption;  but,  as  if  in| 
requital,  she  insisted  upon  having  her  own  will  in  the! 
domestic  and  commercial  departments' which  he  abandoned! 
to  her.  Now,  as  Bartoline  Saddletree  had  a  considerable 
gift  of  words,  which  he  mistook  for  eloquence,  and  con-j 
f erred  more  liberally  upon  the  society  in  which  he  livedo 
than  was  at  all  times  gracious  and  acceptable,  there  went; 
forth  a  saying,  with  which  wags  used  sometimes  to  inter- j 
rupt  his  rhetoric,  that,  as  he  had  a  golden  nag  at  his: 
door,  so  he  had  a  gray  mare  in  his  shop.  This  reproach; 
induced  Mr.  Saddletree,  on  all  occasions,  to  assume  rather: 
a  haughty  and  stately  tone  toward  his  good  woman,  a^ 
circumstance  by  which  she  seemed  very  little  aifected,  un-! 
less  he  attempted  to  exercise  any  real  authority,  when  shei 
never  failed  to  fly  into  open  rebellion.  But  such  extremes  i 
Bartoline  seldom  provoked;  for,  like  the  gentle  King] 
Jamie,  he  was  fonder  of  talking  of  authority  than  really  i 
exercising  it.  This  turn  of  mind  was,  on  the  whole,  lucky ' 
for  him ;  since  his  substance  was  increased  without  any  | 
trouble  on  his  part,  or  any  interruption  of  his  favorite 
studies. 

This  word  in  explanation  has  been  thrown  in  to  the ' 
reader,  while  Saddletree  was  laying  down,  with  great ' 
precision,  the  law  upon  Porteous's  case,  by  which  he  \ 
arrived  at  this  conclusion,  that,  if  Porteous  had  fired  five  i 
minutes  sooner,  before  Wilson  was  cut  down,  he  would  ; 
have  been  versans  in  licitoj  engaged,  that  is,  in  a  lawful  ' 
act,  and  only  liable  to  be  punished  propter  excessum,  or  ^ 
for  lack  of  discretion,  which  might  have  mitigated  the  ' 
punishment  to  pcena  ordinaria.  ' 

"Discretion !"  echoed  Mrs.  Howden,  on  whom,  it  may  \ 
well  be  supposed,  the  fineness  of  this  distinction  was  en-  I 
tirely  thrown  away, — "whan  had  Jock  Porteous  either  ' 
grace,  discretion,  or  gude  manners  ? — I  mind  when  his  j 
father "  I 

"But,  Mrs.  Howden "  said  Saddletree.  .      \ 


THE   HEART    OF    MlD-LOTHlAN  57 

''And  I,"  said  Miss  Damahoy,  "mind  when  his  mo- 
ther^" 

"^liss  Damahoy "  entreated  the  interrupted  orator. 

''And  I,"  said  Plumdamas,  "mind  when  his  wife " 

"Mr.  Phimdamas  —  Mrs.  Howden  —  Miss  Damahoy," 
ag:ain  implored  the  orator, — "mind,  the  distinction,  as 
Counsellor  Crossmyloof  says — T,'  says  he,  'take  a  distinc- 
tion.' Xow,  the  body  of  the  crin\inal  being  cut  down, 
and  the  execution  ended,  Porteous  was  no  lonijer  official; 
the  act  which  he  came  to  protect  and  guard,  being  done 
and  ended,  he  was  no  better  than  cuivis  ex  populo." 

"Quivis — quivis,  Mr.  Saddletree,  craving  your  pardon," 
said  (with  a  prolonged  emphasis  on  the  first  syllable)  Mr. 
Butler,  the  deputy  schoolmaster  of  a  parish  near  Edin- 
burgh, who  at  that  moment  came  up  behind  them  as  the 
false  Latin  was  uttered. 

"What  signifies  interrupting  me,  Mr.  Butler? — but  I  am 
glad  to  see  you  notwithstanding — I  speak  after  Counsellor 
Crossmyloof,  and  he  said  cuivis." 

"If  Counsellor  Crossmyloof  used  the  dative  for  the 
nominative,  I  would  have  crossed  his  loof  with  a  tight 
leathern  strap,  Mr.  Saddletree;  there  is  not  a  boy  on  the 
booby  form  but  should  have  been  scourged  for  such  a 
solecism   in   grammar." 

"I  speak  Latin  like  a  lawyer,  Mr.  Butler,  and  not  like  a 
schoolmaster,"  retorted  Saddletree. 

"Scarce  like  a  schoolboy,  I  think,"  rejoined  Butler. 

"It  matters  little,"  said  Bartoline;  "all  I  mean  to  say  is, 
that  Porteous  has  become  liable  to  the  pcvna  extra  ordinem, 
or  capital  punishment;  which  is  to  say,  in  plain  Scotch, 
the  gallows,  simply  oecause  he  did  not  fire  when  he  was 
in  office,  but  waited  till  the  body  was  cut  down,  the  execu- 
tion whilk  he  had  in  charge  to  guard  imi)lemented.  and 
he  himself  exoncrod  of  the  public  trust  imposed  on  him." 

"But,  ^Ir.  Saddletree,"  said  Plumdamas,  "do  ye  really 
think  John  Porteous's  case  wad  hae  been  better  if  he  had 
begun  firing  before  ony  stanes  were  flung  at  a'?" 

"Indeed  do  I,  neighl)or  Plumdamas,"  replied  Bartoline, 
confidently,  "he  being  then  in  point  of  trust  and  in  point 
of  jiower,  the  execution  being  but  inchoat,  or,  at  least,  not 
implemented,  or  finally  ended  ;  but  after  Wilson  was  cut 
down,  it  was  a'  ower — he  was  clean  exauctorate,  and  had 


58  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

nae  mair  ado  but  to  get  awa  wi'  his  guard  up  this  West 
Bow  as  fast  as  if  there  had  been  a  caption  after  him — 
And  this  is  law,  for  I  heard  it  laid  down  by  Lord  Vin- 
covincentem." 

^'Vincovincentem  ? — Is  he  a  lord  of  state,  or  a  lord  of 
seat^^'   inquired  Mrs.  Howden."^ 

"A  lord  of  seat — a  lord  of  session. — I  fash  mysell  little 
wi'  lords  o'  state;  they  vex  me  wi'  a  wheen  idle  questions 
about  their  saddles,  and  curpels,  and  holsters,  and  horse- 
furniture,  and  what  they'll  cost,  and  whan  they'll  be  ready 
— a  wheen  galloping  geese — my  wife  may  serve  the  like 
o'  them." 

"And  so  might  she,  in  her  day,  hae  served  the  best  lord 
in  the  land,  for  as  little  as  ye  think  o'  her,  Mr.  Saddle- 
tree,'' said  Mrs.  Howden,  somewhat  indignant  at  the  con- 
temptuous way  in  which  her  gossip  was  mentioned ;  "when 
she  and  I  were  twa  gilpies,  we  little  thought  to  hae  sitten 
doun  wi'  the  like  o'  my  auld  Davie  Howden,  or  you  either, 
Mr.  Saddletree." 

While  Saddletree,  who  was  not  bright  at  a  reply,  was 
cudgelling  his  brains  for  an  answer  to  this  home-thrust, 
Miss  Damahoy  broke  in  on  him. 

"And  as  for  the  lords  of  state,"  said  Miss  Damahoy,  "ye 
suld  mind  the  riding  o'  the  parliament,  Mr.  Saddletree, 
in  the  gude  auld  time  before  the  Union, — a  year's  rent  o' 
mony  a  gude  estate  gaed  for  horse-graith  and  harnessing, 
forby  broidered  robes  and  foot-mantles,  that  wad  hae  stude 
by  their  lane  wi'  gold  brocade,  and  that  were  muckle  in 
my  ain  line." 

"Ay,  and  then  the  lusty  banqueting,  with  sweetmeats 
and  comfits  wet  and  dry,  and  dried  fruits  of  divers  sorts," 
said  Plumdamas.  "But  Scotland  was  Scotland  in  those 
days." 

"I'll  tell  ye  what  it  is,  neighbors,"  said  Mrs.  Howden, 
"I'll  ne'er  believe  Scotland  is  Scotland  ony  mair,  if  our 
kindly  Scots  sit  doun  with  the  affront  they  hae  gien  us 
this  day.  It's  not  only  the  blude  that  is  shed,  but  the 
blude  that  might  hae  been  shed,  that's  required  at  our 
hand's;  there  was  my  daughter's  wean,  little  Eppie  Daidle 

*  A  nobleman  was  called  a  Lord  of  State.  The  Senators  of  the 
College  of  Justice  were  termed  Lords  of  Seat,  or  of  the  Session. 


THE   HEAKT    OF    MlD-LOTIilAN  59 

— my  oe,  ye  ken  Miss  Grizcl — had  played  the  truant  frae 
the  school,  as  bairns  will  do,  ye  ken,  Mr.  Butler " 

"And  for  which,"  interjected  Mr.  Butler,  "they  should 
be   soundly   scourged   by    their   well-wishers." 

"And  had  just  cruppen  to  the  gallows'  foot  to  see  the 
hanging',  as  was  natural  for  a  w^ean ;  and  what  for  mightna 
she  hae  been  shot  as  weel  as  the  rest  o'  them,  and  where 
wad  we  a'  hae  been  then?  I  wonder  how  Queen  Carline 
(if  her  name  be  Carline)  wad  hae  liked  to  hae  had  ane  o' 
her  ain  bairns  in  sic  a  venture  V 

''Report  says,"  answered  Butler,  "that  such  a  circum- 
stance would  not  have  distressed  her  majesty  beyond 
endurance." 

"Aweel,"  said  Mrs.  Howden,  "the  sum  o'  the  matter  is^- 
that,  were  I  a  man,  I  wad  hae  amends  o'  Jock  Porteous, 
be  the  upshot  what  like  o't,  if  a'  the  carles  and  carlines  in 
England  had  sworn  to  the  nay-say. 

"I  would  claw  down  the  Tolbooth  door  wi'  my  nails," 
said  Miss  Grizel,  "but  I  wad  be  at  him." 

"Ye  may  be  very  right,  ladies,"  said  Butler,  "but  I 
would  not  advise  you  to  speak  so  loud." 

"Speak !"  exclaimed  both  the  ladies  together,  "there  will 
be  naething  else  spoken  about  frae  the  Weigh-house  to 
the  Water-gate,  till  this  is  either  ended  or  mended." 

The  fem.ales  now  departed  to  their  respective  places  of 
abode.  Plumdamas  joined  the  other  two  gentlemen  in 
drinking  their  meridian  (a  bumper-dram  of  brandy),  as 
they  passed  the  well-known  low-browed  shop  in  the  Lawn- 
market,  where  they  were  wont  to  take  that  refreshment. 
Mr.  Plumdamas  then  departed  toward  his  shop,  and  Mr. 
Butler,  who  happened  to  have  some  particular  occasion 
for  the  rein  of  an  old  bridle  (the  truants  of  that  busy  day 
could  have  anticipated  its  application),  walked  down  the 
Lawnmarket  with  Mr.  Saddletree,  each  talking  as  he  could 
get  a  word  thrust  in,  the  one  on  the  laws  of  Scotland,  the 
other  on  those  of  Syntax,  and  neither  listening  to  a  word 
which   his   companion   uttered. 


60  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTEK   y 

Elswhair  he  colde  right  weel  lay  down  the  law, 
But  in  his  house  was  meek  as  is  a  daw. 

Davie  L-'ndsay. 

"There  has  been  Jock  Driver  the  carrier  here,  speering 
about  his  new  graith,"  said  Mrs.  Saddletree  to  her  hus- 
band, as  he  crossed  the  threshold,  not  with  the  purpose, 
by  any  means,  of  consulting  him  upon  his  own  affairs, 
but  merely  to  intimate,  by  a  gentle  recapitulation,  how 
much  duty  she  had  gone  through  in  his  absence. 

"Weel,"  replied  Bartoline,  and  deigned  not  a  word 
more. 

"And  the  Laird  of  Girdingburst  has  had  his  running, 
footman  here,  and  ca'd  himsell  (he's  a  civil  pleasant 
young  gentleman)  to  see  when  the  broidered  saddle-cloth 
for  his  sorrel  horse  will  be  ready,  for  he  wants  it  agane 
the  Kelso  races." 

"Weel,  aweel,"  replied  Bartoline,  as  laconically  as 
before. 

"And  his  lordship,  the  Earl  of  Blazonbury,  Lord  Flash 
and  Flame,  is  like  to  be  clean  daft,  that  the  harness  for 
the  six  Flanders  mears,  wi'  the  crests,  coronets,  housings, 
and  mountings  conform,  are  no  sent  hame  according  to 
promise  gien." 

"Weel,  weel,  weel — weel,  weel,  gudewife,"  said  Saddle- 
tree, "if  he  gangs  daft,  we'll  hae  him  cognosced — it's  a' 
very  weel." 

"It's  weel  that  ye  think  sae,  Mr.  Saddletree,"  answered 
his  helpmate,  rather  nettled  at  the  indifference  with  which 
her  report  was  received;  "there's  mony  ane  wad  hae 
thought  themselves  affronted,  if  sae  mony  customers  had 
ca'd  and  naebody  to  answer  them  but  women-folk;  for  a* 
the  lads  were  aff,  as  soon  as  your  back  was  turned,  to  see 
Porteous  hanged,  that  might  be  counted  upon;  and  sae, 
you  no   being  at  hame " 

"Houts,  Mrs.  Saddletree,"  said  Bartoline,  with  an  air  of 
consequence,  "dinna  deave  me  wi'  your  nonsense;  I  was 


THE   HEART    OE    MID-LOTHIAN  61 

under  the  necessity  of  being"  elsewhere — non  omnia — as 
Mr.  Crossmyloof  said,  when  he  was  called  by  two  macers 
at  once,  non  omnia  po.ssumus — pessimus — possimis — I  ken 
our  law-latin  oti'ends  Mr.  Butler's  ears,  but  it  means  nae- 
body,  an  it  were  the  Lord  President  himsell,  can  do  twa 
turns  at  anee." 

''Very  right,  Mr.  Saddletree,"  answered  his  careful  help- 
mate, with  a  sarcastic  smile;  ''and  nae  doubt  it's  a  decent 
thing  to  leave  your  wife  to  look  after  young  gentlemen's 
saddles  and  bridles,  when  ye  gang  to  see  a  man,  that  never 
did  ye  nae  ill,  raxing  a  halter." 

''Woman,"  said  Saddletree,  assuming  an  elevated  tone, 
to  which  the  meridian  had  somewhat  contributed,  *'desist, 
— I  say  forbear,  from  intromitting  with  alfairs  thou  canst 
not  understand.  D'ye  think  I  was  born  to  sit  here  broggin 
an  elshin  through  bend-leather,  when  sic  men  as  Duncan 
Eorbes,  and  that  other  Arniston  chield  there,  without 
muekle  greater  parts,  if  the  close-head  speak  true,  than 
mysell,  maun  be  presidents  and  king's  advocates,  nae 
doubt,  and  wha  but  they?  ^^Tiereas.  were  favor  equally 
distribute,  as  in  the  days  of  the  wight  Wallace " 

'T  ken  naething  we  wad  hae  gotten  by  the  wight 
Wallace,"  said  Mrs.  Saddletree,  "unless,  as  I  hae  heard 
the  auld  folk  tell,  they  fought  in  thae  days  wi'  bend- 
leather  guns,  and  then  it's  a  chance  but  what,  if  he  had 
bought  them,  he  might  have  forgot  to  pay  for  them.  And 
as  for  the  greatness  of  your  parts,  Bartley,  the  folk  in  the 
close-head  maun  ken  mair  about  them  than  I  do,  if  they 
make  sic  a   report  of  them." 

'T  tell  ye,  woman,"  said  Saddletree,  in  high  dudgeon, 
"that  ye  ken  naething  about  these  matters.  In  Sir 
William  Wallace's  days,  there  was  nae  man  pinned  down 
to  sic  a  slavish  wark  as  a  saddler's,  for  they  got  ony 
leather  graith  that  they  had  use  for  ready-made  out  of 
Holland." 

"Well,"  said  Butler,  who  was.  like  many  of  his  pro- 
fession, something  of  a  humorist  and  dry  joker,  "if  that 
be  the  case,  Mr.  Saddletree,  I  think  we  have  changed  for 
the  better;  since  we  make  our  own  harness,  and  only 
import  our  lawj'ers  from  Holland." 

"It's  ower  true,  !^^^.  Bntlor,"  answered  Bartoline,  with 
a  sigh ;  "if  I  had  had  the  luck — or  rather,  if  my  father  had 


62  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

had  the  sense  to  send  me  to  Leyden  and  Utrecht  to  learn 
the  Substitutes  and  Pandex " 

"You  mean  the  Institutes — Justinian's  Institutes,  Mr. 
Saddletree?"  said  Butler. 

"Institutes  and  substitutes  are  synonymous  words,  Mr. 
Butler,  and  used  indifferently  as  such  in  deeds  of  tailzie, 
as  you  may  see  in  Balfour's  Practiques,  or  Dallas  of  St. 
Martin's  Styles.  I  understand  these  things  pretty  weel, 
I  thank  God;  but  I  own  I  should  have  studied  in 
Holland." 

"To  comfort  you,  you  might  not  have  been  farther 
forward  than  you  are  now,  Mr.  Saddletree,"  replied  Mr. 
Butler,  "for  our  Scottish  advocates  are  an  aristocratic 
race.  Their  brass  is  of  the  right  Corinthian  quality,  and 
Non  cuivis  contigit  adire  Corinthum — Aha,  Mr.  Saddle- 
tree?" 

"And  aha,  Mr.  Butler,"  rejoined  Bartoline,  upon  whom, 
as  may  be  well  supposed,  the  jest  was  lost,  and  all  but  the 
sound  of  the  words,  "ye  said  a  gliff  syne  it  was  a  quivis, 
and  now  I  heard  ye  say  cuivis  with  my  ain  ears,  as  plain 
as  ever  I  heard  a  word  at  the  fore-bar." 

"Give  me  your  patience,  Mr.  Saddletree,  and  I'll  explain 
the  discrepancy  in  three  words,"  said  Butler,  as  pedantic 
in  his  own  department,  though  with  infinitely  more  judg- 
ment and  learning,  as  Bartoline  was  in  his  self-assumed 
profession  of  the  law — "Give  me  your  patience  for  a 
moment. — You'll  grant  that  the  nominative  case  is  that 
by  which  a  person  or  thing  is  nominated  or  designed,  and 
which  may  be  called  the  primary  case,  all  others  being 
formed  from  it  by  alterations  of  the  termination  in  the 
learned  languages,  and  by  prepositions  in  our  modern 
Babvlonian  jargons — You'll  grant  me  that,  I  suppose,  Mr. 
Saddletree?" 

"I  dinna  ken  whether  I  will  or  no — ad  avisandum,  ye 
ken — naebody  should  be  in  a  hurry  to  make  admissions, 
either  in  point  of  law,  or  in  point  of  fact,"  said  Saddle- 
tree, looking,  or  endeavoring  to  look,  as  if  he  understood 
what   was   said. 

"And  the  dative  case "  continued  Butler. 

"I  ken  what  a  tutor  dative  is,"  said  Saddletree,  "readily 
enough." 

"The  dative  case,"  resumed  the  grammarian,  "is  that  in 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  63 

which  anythinp:  is  privon  or  nssipcnod  as  properly  helonprinp^ 
to  a  person,  or  thing — You  cannot  deny  that,  I  am 
sure.*' 

'T  am  sure  I'll  no  grant  it  though,"  said  Saddletree. 

"Then,  Avhat  the  deevil  d'ye  take  the  nominative  and  th^ 
dative  cases  to  be?"  said  Butler,  hastily,  and  surprised  at 
once  out  of  his  decency  of  expression  and  accuracy  of 
pronunciation. 

'T*ll  tell  you  that  at  leisure,  Mr.  Butler,"  said  Saddle- 
tree, with  a  very  knowing  look;  "I'll  take  a  day  to  see  and 
answer  every  article  of  your  condescendence,  and  then  I'll 
hold  you  to  confess  or  deny,  as  accords." 

"Come,  come,  Mr.  Saddletree,"  said  his  wife,  "we'll  hae 
nae  confessions  and  condescendences  here,  let  them  deal 
in  thae  sort  o'  wares  that  are  paid  for  them — they  suit 
the  like  o'  us  as  ill  as  a  demipique  saddle  would  set  a 
draught  ox." 

"Aha!"  said  Mr.  Butler,  "Optat  ephippia  hos  piger, 
nothing  new  under  the  sun — But  it  was  a  fair  hit  of  Mrs. 
Saddletree,  however." 

"And  it  wad  far  better  become  ye,  Mr.  Saddletree," 
continued  his  helpmate,  "since  ye  say  ye  hae  skeel  o'  the 
law,  to  try  if  ye  can  do  onything  for  Effie  Deans,  puir 
thing,  that's  lying  up  in  the  Tolbooth  yonder,  cauld,  and 
hungry,  and  comfortless — A  servant  lass  of  ours,  Mr. 
Butler,  and  as  innocent  a  lass,  to  my  thinking,  and  as 
usefu'  in  the  chop — When  Mr.  Saddletree  gangs  out, — 
and  ye're  aware  he's  seldom  at  hame  when  there's  ony 
o'  the  plea-houses  open, — puir  Effie  used  to  help  me  to 
tumble  the  bundles  o'  barkened  leather  up  and  down,  and 
rancre  out  the  gudes,  and  suit  a'body's  humors — And 
troth,  she  could  aye  please  the  customers  wi'  her  answers, 
for  she  was  aye  civil,  and  a  bonnier  lass  wasna  in  Auld 
Reekie,  And  when  folk  were  hasty  and  unreasonable,  she 
could  serve  them  bettor  than  me,  that  am  no  sae  young  as 
I  hae  been,  Mr.  Butler,  and  a  wee  bit  short  in  the  temper 
into  the  bargain.  For  when  there's  ower  mony  folks 
cr>'ing  on  me  at  anes,  and  nane  but  ae  tongue  to  answer 
them,  folk  maun  speak  hastily,  or  they'll  ne'er  get  through 
their  wark — Sae  I  miss  Effie  daily." 

"Z)e  die  in  diem,"  added  Saddletree. 

"I  think,"  said  Butler,  after  a  good  deal  of  hesitation, 


64  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

"I  have  seen  the  girl  in  the  shop — a  modest-looking,  fair- 
haired  girl?" 

"Ay,  ay,  that's  just  puir  Effie,"  said  her  mistress.  "How 
she  was  abandoned  to  hersell,  or  whether  she  was  sackless 
o'  the  sinfu'  deed,  God  in  Heaven  knows ;  but  if  she's  been 
guilty,  she's  been  sair  tempted,  and  I  wad  amaist  take 
my  Bible-aith  she  hasna  been  hersell  at  the  time." 

Butler  had  by  this  time  become  much  agitated;  he 
fidgeted  up  and  down  the  shop,  and  showed  the  greatest- 
agitation  that  a  person  of  such  strict  decorum  could  be 
supposed  to  give  way  to.  "Was  not  this  girl,"  he  said, 
"the  daughter  of  David  Deans,  that  had  the  parks  at  St. 
Leonard's  taken?  and  has  she  not  a  sister?" 

"In  troth  has  she — puir  Jeanie  Deans,  ten  years  aulder 
than  hersell;  she  was  here  greeting  a  wee  while  syne  about 
her  tittie.  And  what  could  I  say  to  her,  but  that  she 
behoved  to  come  and  speak  to  Mr.  Saddletree  when  he  was 
at  hame?  It  wasna  that  I  thought  Mr.  Saddletree  could 
do  her  or  ony  other  body  muckle  good  or  ill,  but  it  wad 
aye  serve  to  keep  the  puir  thing's  heart  up  for  a  wee 
while;  and  let  sorrow  come  when  sorrow  maun." 

"Ye're  mistaen  though,  gudewife,"  said  Saddletree 
scornfully,  "for  I  could  hae  gien  her  great  satisfaction;  I 
could  hae  proved  to  her  that  her  sister  was  indicted  upon 
the  statute  saxteen  hundred  and  ninety,  chapter  one — 
For  the  mair  ready  prevention  of  child-murder — for  con- 
cealing her  pregnancy,  and  giving  no  account  of  the  child 
which  she  had  borne." 

"I  hope,"  said  Butler, — "I  trust  in  a  gracious  God,  that 
she  can  clear  herself." 

"And  sae  do  I,  Mr.  Butler,"  replied  Mrs.  Saddletree. 
"I  am  sure  I  wad  hae  answered  for  her  as  my  ain 
daughter;  but,  wae's  my  heart,  I  had  been  tender  a'  the 
simmer,  and  scarce  ower  the  door  o'  my  room  for  twal 
weeks.  And  as  for  Mr.  Saddletree,  he  might  be  in  a  lyin- 
in  hospital,  and  ne'er  find  out  what  the  women  cam  there 
for.  Sae  I  could  see  little  or  naething  o'  her,  or  I  wad 
hae  had  the  truth  o'  her  situation  out  o'  her,  I'se  warrant 
ye — But  we  a'  think  her  sister  maun  be  able  to  speak 
something  to  clear  her." 

"The  haill  Parliament  House,"  said  Saddletree,  "was 
speaking  o'  naething  else,  till  this  job  o'  Porteous's  put  it 


THE    HEART    0¥    MlD-LOTHlAN  65 

out  o'  head — It's  a  beautiful  point  of  presumptive  murder, 
and  there's  been  nane  like  it  in  the  Justiciar  Court  since 
the  case  of  Luckie  Smith  the  howdie,  that  suffered  in  the 
year  saxteen  hundred  and  seventy-nine." 

''But  what's  the  matter  wi*  you,  Mr.  Butler?"  said  the 
grood  woman;  "ye  are  looking  as  white  as  a  sheet;  will  ye 
take  a  dram?'' 

"By  no  means,"  said  Butler,  compelling  himself  to 
speak.  "I  walked  in  from  Dumfries  yesterday,  and  this  is 
a  warm  day." 

"Sit  down,"  said  Mrs.  Saddletree,  laying-  hands  on  him 
kindly,  "and  rest  ye — ye'U  kill  yoursell,  man,  at  that  rate 
— And  are  we  to  wish  you  joy  o'  getting  the  scule,  Mr. 
Butler?" 

"Yes — no — I  do  not  know,"  answered  the  young  man 
vaguely.  But  !Mrs.  Saddletree  kept  him  to  the  point, 
partly  out  of  real  interest,  partly  from  curiosity. 

"Ye  dinna  ken  whether  ye  are  to  get  the  free  scule  o' 
Dumfries  or  no,  after  hinging  on  and  teaching  it  a'  the 


smimer 


?-'• 


"Xo,  Mrs.  Saddletree — I  am  not  to  have  it,"  replied 
Butler,  more  collectedly.  "The  Laird  of  Black-at-the- 
bane  had  a  natural  son  bred  to  the  kirk,  that  the  presby- 
tery could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  license;  and  so " 

"Ay,  ye  need  say  nae  mair  about  it;  if  there  was  a 
laird  that  had  a  puir  kinsman  or  a  bastard  that  it  wad 
suit,  there's  eneugh  said. — And  ye're  e'en  come  back  to 
Libberton  to  wait  for  dead  men's  shoon? — and,  for  as 
frail  as  Mr.  Whackbairn  is,  he  may  live  as  lang  as  you, 
that  are  his  assistant  and  successor." 

"Very  like,"  replied  Butler  with  a  sigh;  "I  do  not  know 
if  I  should  wish  it  otherwise." 

"Xae  doubt  it's  a  very  vexing  thing,"  continued  the 
good  lady,  "to  be  in  that  dependent  station;  and  you  that 
hae  right  and  title  to  sae  muckle  better,  I  wonder  how  ye 
bear  these  crosses." 

^^Quos  diligit  castigat,"  answered  Butler;  "even  the 
pagan  Seneca  could  see  an  advantage  in  affliction.  The 
Heathens  had  their  philosoi)hy,  and  the  Jews  their  revela- 
tion, Mrs.  Saddletree,  and  they  endured  their  distresses  in 
their  day.  Christians  have  a  better  dispensation  than 
either — but   doubtless " 


j1 


6Q  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

He  stopped  and  sighed. 

"T  ken  what  ye  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Saddletree,  looking 
toward  her  husband;  "there's  whiles  we  lose  patience  in 
spite  of  baith  book  and  Bible — But  ye  are  no  gaun  awa, 
and  looking  sae  poorly — ye'U  stay  and  take  some  kail  wi' 
us." 

"Mr.  Saddletree  laid  aside  Balfour's  Practiques  (his 
favorite  study,  and  much  good  may  it  do  him),  to  join 
in  his  wife's  hospitable  importunity.  But  the  teacher  de- 
clined all  entreaty,  and  took  his  leave  upon  the  spot. 

"There's  something  in  a'  this,"  said  Mrs.  Saddletree, 
looking  after  him  as  he  walked  up  the  street;  'T  wonder 
what  makes  Mr.  Butler  sae  distressed  about  Effie's  mis- 
fortune— there  was  nae  acquaintance  atween  them-  that 
ever  I.  saw  or  heard  of;  but  they  were  neighbors  when 
David  Deans  was  on  the  Laird  o'  Dumbiedikes'  land.  Mr. 
Butler  wad  ken  her  father,  or  some  o'  her  folk. — Get  up, 
Mr.  Saddletree — ye  have  set  yoursell  down  on  the  very 
brecham  that  wants  stitching — and  here's  little  Willie,  the 
prentice. — Ye  little  rin-there-out  deil  that  ye  are,  what 
takes  you  raking  through  the  gutters  to  see  folk  hangit  ? — 
how  wad  ye  like  when  it  com^s  to  be  your  ain  chance,  as 
I  winna  insure  ye,  if  ye  dinna  mend  your  manners? — 
And  what  are  ye  maundering  and  greeting  for,  as  if  a 
word  were  breaking  your  banes  ? — Gang  in  by,  and  be  a 
better  bairn  another  time,  and  tell  Peggy  to  gie  ye  a 
bicker  o'  broth,  for  ye'll  be  as  gleg  as  a  gled,  I'se  warrant 
ye. — It's  a  fatherless  bairn,  Mr.  Saddletree,  and  mother- 
less, whilk  in  some  cases  may  be  waur,  and  ane  would 
take  care  o'  him  if  they  could — it's  a  Christian  duty." 

"Very  true,  gudewife,"  said  Saddletree,  in  reply,  "we 
are  ?'n  loco  parentis  to  him  during  his  years  of  pupillarity, 
and  I  hae  had  thoughts  of  applying  to  the  Court  for  a 
commission  as  factor  loco  tutoris,  seeing  there  is  nae 
tutor  nominate,  and  the  tutor-at-law  declines  to  act;  but 
only  I  fear  the  expense  of  the  procedure  wad  not  be  in  rem 
rersam,  for  I  am  not  aware  if  Willie  has  ony  effects 
whereof  to   assume  the   administration," 

He  concluded  this  sentence  with  a  self-important  cough, 
as  one  who  has  laid  down  the  law  in  an  indisputable 
manner. 

"Effects!"  said  Mrs.  Saddletree,  "what  effects  has  the 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  67 

piiir  wean  ^ — he  was  in  rafcs  when  his  mother  died;  and 
the  blue  polonie  that  Effie  made  for  him  out  of  an  auld 
mantle  of  my  ain,  was  the  first  decent  dress  the  bairn  ever 
had  on.  Puir  Effie!  can  ye  tell  me  now  really,  wi'  a'  your 
law,  will  her  life  be  in  danger,  Mr.  Saddletree,  when  they 
arena  able  to  prove  that  ever  there  was  a  bairn  ava?" 

"Whoy,"'  said  Mr.  Saddletree,  delighted  at  having  for 
once  in  his  life  seen  his  wife's  attention  arrested  by  a 
topic  of  legal  discussion — *'Whoy,  there  are  two  sorts  of 
murdrum,  or  murdragium,  or  what  you  populariter  et 
vuJfjaritpr  call  murther.  I  mean  there  are  many  sorts; 
for  there's  your  murthrum  per  vigilias  et  insidias,  and 
your  murthrum  under  trust." 

"I  am  sure,"  replied  his  moiety,  "that  murther  by  trust 
is  the  way  that  the  gentry  murther  us  merchants,  and 
whiles  make  us  shut  the  booth  up — but  that  has  naething 
to  do  wi^  Effie's  misfortune." 

"The  case  of  Effie  (or  Euphemia)  Deans,"  resumed 
Saddletree,  "is  one  of  those  cases  of  murder  presumptive, 
that  is,  a  murder  of  the  law's  inferring  or  construction, 
being  derived  from  certain  indicia  or  grounds  of 
suspicion." 

"So  that."  said  the  good  woman,  "unless  puir  Effie  has 
communicated  her  situation,  shell  be  hanged  by  the  neck, 
if  the  bairn  was  still-born,  or  if  it  be  alive  at  this 
moment  ?" 

"Assuredly,"  said  Saddletree,  "it  being  a  statute  made 
by  our  Sovereign  Lord  and  Lady,  to  prevent  the  horrid 
delict  of  bringing  forth  children  in  secret — The  crime  is 
rather  a  favorite  of  the  law,  this  species  of  murther  being 
one  of  its  ain  creation." 

"Then,  if  the  law  makes  murders,"  said  Mrs.  Saddletree, 
"the  law  should  be  hanged  for  them;  or  if  they  wad  hang 
a  lawyer  instead,  the  country  wad  find  nae  faut." 

A  summons  to  their  frugal  dinner  interrupted  the 
further  progress  of  the  conversation,  which  was  other- 
wise like  to  take  a  turn  much  less  favorable  to  the  science 
of  jurisprudence  and  its  professors,  than  Mr.  Bartoline 
Saddletree,  the  fond  admirer  of  both,  had  at  its  opening 
anticipated. 


68  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTER    VI 

But  up  then  raise  all   Edinburgh, 
They  all  rose  up  by  thousands  ^hree. 

Johnnie  Arhistrang's   Goodnight. 

BuTLER;,  on  his  departure  from  the  sign  of  the  Golden 
Nag,  went  in  quest  of  a  friend  of  his  connected  with  the 
law,  of  whom  he  wished  to  make  particular  inquiries  con- 
cerning the  circumstances  in  which  the  unfortunate 
young  woman  mentioned  in  the  last  chapter  was  placed, 
having,  as  the  reader  has  probably  already  conjectured, 
reasons  much  deeper  than  those  dictated  by  mere  humani- 
ty, for  interesting  himself  in  her  fate.  He  found  the 
person  he  sought  absent  from  home,  and  was  equally  un- 
fortunate in  one  or  two  other  calls  which  he  made  upon 
acquaintances  whom  he  hoped  to  interest  in  her  story. 
But  everybody  was,  for  the  moment,  stark-mad  on  the 
subject  of  Porteous,  and  engaged  busily  in  attacking  or 
defending  the  measures  of  government  in  reprieving  him; 
and  the  ardor  of  dispute  had  excited  such  universal 
thirst,  that  half  the  young  lawyers  and  writers,  together 
with  their  very  clerks,  the  class  whom  Butler  was  looking 
after,  had  adjourned  the  debate  to  some  favorite  tavern. 
It  was  computed  by  an  experienced  arithmetician,  that 
there  was  as  much  twopenny  ale  consumed  on  the  discus- 
sion as  would  have  floated  a  first-rate  man-of-war. 

Butler  wandered  about  until  it  was  dusk,  resolving  to 
take  that  opportunity  of  visiting  the  unfortunate  young 
woman,  when  his  doing  so  might  be  least  observed;  for 
he  had  his  own  reasons  for  avoiding  the  remarks  of  Mrs. 
Saddletree,  whose  shop-door  opened  at  no  great  distance 
from  that  of  the  jail,  though  on  the  opposite  or  south  side 
of  the  street,  and  a  little  higher  up.  He  passed,  therefore, 
through  the  narrow  and  partly  covered  passage  leading 
from  the  northwest  end  of  the  Parliament  Square. 

He  stood  now  before  the  Gothic  entrance  of  the  ancient 
prison,  which  as  is  well  known  to  all  men,  rears  its 
ancient  front  in  the  very  middle  of  the  High  Street, 
forming,   as  it  were,  the  termination  to  a  huge  pile  of 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  69 

buiklingrs  called  the  Luckenbooths,  which,  for  some  in- 
conceivable reason,  our  ancestors  had  jammed  into  the 
midst  of  the  principal  street  of  the  town,  leaving  for 
passage  a  narrow  street  on  the  north,  and  on  the  south, 
into  which  the  prison  opens,  a  narrow  crooked  lane, 
winding  betwixt  the  high  and  sombre  walls  of  the  Tol- 
bootli  and  the  adjacent  houses  on  the  one  side,  and  the 
buttresses  and  projections  of  the  old  Cathedral  upon  the 
other.  To  give  some  gaiety  to  this  sombre  passage  (well 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Krames),  a  number  of  little 
booths,  or  shops,  after  the  fashion  of  coblers'  stalls,  are 
plastered,  as  it  were,  against  the  Gothic  projections  and 
abutments,  so  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  traders  had  occupied 
with  nests,  bearing  the  same  proportion  to  the  building, 
eyery  buttress  and  coign  of  vantage,  as  the  martlet  did  in 
Macbeth's  Castle.  Of  later  years  these  booths  have 
degenerated  into  mere  toy-shops,  where  the  little  loiterers 
chiefly  interested  in  such  wares  are  tempted  to  linger, 
enchanted  by  the  rich  display  of  hobby-horses,  babies,  and 
Dutch  toys,  arranged  in  artful  and  gay  confusion;  yet 
half-scared  by  the  cross  looks  of  the  withered  pantaloon, 
or  spectacled  old  lady,  by  whom  these  tempting  stores  are 
watched  and  superintended.  But,  in  the  times  we  write 
of,  the  hosiers,  the  glovers,  the  hatters,  the  mercers,  the 
milliners,  and  all  who  dealt  in  the  miscellaneous  wares 
now  termed  haberdasher's  goods,  were  to  be  found  in  this 
narrow  alley. 

To  return  from  our  digression.  Butler  found  the  outer 
turnkey,  a  tall,  thin,  old  man,  with  long  silver  hair,  in  the 
act  of  locking  the  outward  door  of  the  jail.  He  addressed 
himself  to  this  person,  and  asked  admittance  to  Effie 
Deans,  confined  upon  accusation  of  child-murder.  The 
turnkey  looked  at  him  earnestly,  and,  civilly  touching  his 
hat  out  of  respect  to  Butler's  black  coat  and  clerical 
appearance,  replied,  "It  was  impossible  any  one  could  be 
admitted  at  present." 

"You  shut  up  earlier  than  usual,  probably  on  account 
of   Captain    Porteous's    affair?"    said   Butler. 

The  turnkey,  with  the  true  mystery  of  a  person  in 
office,  gave  two  grave  nods,  and  withdrawing  from  the 
"wards  a  ponderous  key  of  about  two  feet  in  length,  he 
proceeded  to  shut  a  strong  plate  of  steel,  which  folded 


70  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

down  above  the  keyhole,  and  was  secured  by  a  steel  spring 
and  catch.  Butler  stood  still  instinctively  while  the 
door  was  made  fast,  and  then  looking  at  his  watch,  walked 
briskly  up  the  street,  muttering  to  himself  almost  un- 
consciously— 

Porta  adversa,  ingens,  solidoque  adamante  columnae; 
Vis  ut  nulla  virmn.  non  ipsi  exscindere  ferro 
Ccelicolse  valeant — Stat  ferrea  turris  ad  auras — etc.* 

Having  wasted  half-an-hour  more  in  a  second  fruitless 
attempt  to  find  his  legal  friend  and  adviser,  he  thought  it 
time  to  leave  the  city  and  return  to  his  place  of  residence, 
in  a  small  village  about  two  miles  and  a  half  to  the  south- 
ward of  Edinburgh.  The  metropolis  "was  at  this  time 
surrounded  by  a  high  wall,  with  battlements  and  flanking 
projections  at  some  intervals,  and  the  access  was  through 
gates,  called  in  the  Scottish  language  ports,  which  were 
regularly  shut  at  night.  A  small  fee  to  the  keepers 
would  indeed  procure  egress  and  ingress  at  any  time, 
through  a  wicket  left  for  that  purpose  in  the  large  gate, 
but  it  was  of  some  importance,  to  a  man  so  poor  as 
Butler,  to  avoid  even  this  slight  pecuniary  mulct;  and 
fearing  the  hour  of  shutting  the  gates  might  be  near,  he 
made  for  that  to  which  he  found  himself  nearest,  although, 
by  doing  so,  he  somewhat  lengthened  his  walk  home- 
ward. Bristo  Port  was  that  by  which  his  direct  road 
lay,  but  the  West  Port,  which  leads  o-ut  of  the  Grass- 
market,  was  the  nearest  of  the  city  gates  to  the  place 
where  he  found  himself,  and  to  that,  therefore,  he 
directed  his  course.  He  reached  the  port  in  ample  time 
to  pass  the  circuit  of  the  walls,  and  enter  a  suburb  called 
Portsburgh,  chiefly  inhabited  by  the  lower  order  of 
citizens  and  mechanics.  Here  he  was  unexpectedly  in- 
terrupted. 

He  had  not  gone  far  from  the  gate  before  he  heard  the 
sound  of  a  drum,  and,  to  his  great  surprise,  met  a  number 
of  persons,   sufficient  to   occupy  the  whole   front   of  the 

*  Wide   is  the   fronting  gate,   and,   raised   on   high. 
With   adamantine  columns  threats  the   sky; 
Vain  is  the  force  of  man,  and  Heaven's  as  vain. 
To  crush  the  pillars  which  the  pile  sustain, 
Sublime  on  these  a  tower  of  steel  is  rear'd. 

Dryden's  Virgil,  Book  vi. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  71 

street,  and  form  a  considerable  mass  behind,  moving  with 
great  speed  toward  the  gate  he  had  just  come  from,  and 
having  in  front  of  them  a  drum  beating  to  arms.  While 
he  considered  how  he  should  escape  a  party,  assembled,  as 
it  might  be  presumed,  for  no  lawful  purpose,  they  came 
full  on  him  and  stopped  him. 

"Are  you  a  clergyman?"  one  questioned  him. 

Butler  replied,  that  ''he  was  in  orders,  but  was  not  a 
placed  minister.'' 

'Tt's  Mr.  Butler  from  Libberton,'*  said  a  voice  from 
behind;  ''he'll  discharge  the  duty  as  weel  as  ony  man.'' 

''You  must  turn  back  with  us,  sir,"  said  the  first 
speaker,   in  a  tone  civil  but  peremptory. 

"For  what  purpose,  gentlemen?''  said  Mr.  Butler.  '1 
live  at  some  distance  from  town — the  roads  are  unsafe  by 
night — you  will  do  me  a  serious  injury  by  stopping  me." 

"You  shall  be  sent  safely  home — no  man  shall  touch  a 
hair  of  your  head — but  you  must  and  shall  come  along 
with  us." 

"But  to  what  purpose  or  end,  gentlemen?"  said  Butler. 
"I  hope  you  will  be  so  civil  as  to  explain  that  to  me?" 

'*Yoii  shall  know  that  in  good  time.  Come  along — for 
come  you  must,  by  force  or  fair  means;  and  I  warn  you 
to  look  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  the  left,  and  to  take 
no  notice  of  any  man's  face,  but  consider  all  that  is 
passing  before  you  as  a  dream." 

''I  would  it  were  a  dream  I  could  awaken  from,"  said 
Butler  to  himself;  but  having  no  means  to  oppose  the 
violence  with  which  he  was  threatened,  he  was  compelled 
to  turn  round  and  march  in  front  of  the  rioters,  two  men 
partly  supporting  and  partly  holding  him.  During  this 
parley  the  insurgents  had  made  themselves  masters  of 
the  West  Port,  rushing  upon  the  Waiters  (so  the  people 
were  called  who  had  the  charge  of  the  gat^s),  and  possess- 
ing themselves  of  the  keys.  They  bolted  and  barred  the 
folding  doors,  and  commanded  the  person,  whose  duty 
it  usually  was,  to  secure  the  wicket,  of  which  they  did  not 
understand  the  fastenings.  The  man,  terrified  at  an 
incident  so  totally  unexpected,  was  unable  to  perform  his 
usual  office,  and  gave  the  matter  up,  after  several  at- 
tempts. The  rioters,  who  seemed  to  have  come  prepared 
for  e^-ery  emergency,  called  for  torches,  by  the  light  of 


72  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

■which  they  nailed  up  the  wicket  with  lonj:   i  ails,  which, 
it  appeared  probable,  they  had  provided  on  purpose. 

While  this  was  going  on,  Butler  could  not,  even  if  he 
had  been  willing,  avoid  making  remarks  on  the  individu- 
als who  seemed  to  lead  this  singular  mob.  The  torchlight, 
while  it  fell  on  their  forms,  and  left  him  in  the  shade, 
gave  him  an  opportunity  to  do  so  without  their  observing 
him.  Several  of  those  who  appeared  most  active  were 
dressed  in  sailors'  jackets,  trousers,  and  sea  caps;  others 
in  large  loose-bodied  great-coats,  and  slouched  hats;  and 
there  were  several  who,  judging  from  their  dress,  should 
have  been  called  women,  whose  rough  deep  voices,  un- 
common size,  and  masculine  deportment  and  mode  of 
walking,  forbade  them  being  so  interpreted.  They  moved 
as  if  by  some  well-concerted  plan  of  arrangement.  They 
had  signals  by  which  they  knew,  and  nicknames  by  which 
they  distinguished  each  other.  Butler  remarked,  that  the 
name  of  Wildfire  was  used  among  them,  to  which  one 
stout  amazon  seemed  to  reply. 

The  rioters  left  a  small  party  to  observe  the  West  Port, 
and  directed  the  Waiters,  as  they  valued  their  lives,  to 
remain  within  their  lodge  and  make  no  attempt  for  that 
night  to  repossess  themselves  of  the  gate.  They  then 
moved  with  rapidity  along  the  low  street  called  the  Cow- 
gate,  the  mob  of  the  city  everywhere  rising  at  the  sound 
of  their  drum,  and  joining  them.  When  the  multitude 
arrived  at  the  Cowgate  Port,  they  secured  it  with  as  little 
opposition  as  the  former,  made  it  fast,  and  left  a  small 
party  to  observe  it.  It  was  afterward  remarked,  as  a 
striking  instance  of  prudence  and  precaution,  singularly 
combined  with  audacity,  that  the  parties  left  to  guard 
those  gates  did  not  remain  stationary  on  their  posts,  but 
flitted  to  and  fro,  keeping  so  near  the  gates  as  to  see  that 
no  efforts  were  made  to  open  them,  yet  not  remaining  so 
long  as  to  have  their  persons  closely  observed.  The  mob, 
at  first  only  about  one  hundred  strong,  now  amounted  to 
thousands,  and  were  increasing  every  moment.  They 
divided  themselves  so  as  to  ascend  with  more  speed  the 
various  narrow  lanes  which  lead  up  from  the  Cowgate  to 
the  High  Street;  and  still  beating  to  arms  as  they  went, 
and  calling  on  all  true  Scotsmen  to  join  them,  they  now 
filled  the  principal  street  of  the  city. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  73 

The  Xethcrbow  Port  miprht  be  called  the  Temple  Bar  of 
Edinburgh,  as,  intersecting  the  High  Street  at  its  termi- 
nation, it  divided  Edinburgh,  properly  so  called,  frorti 
the  suburb  named  the  Canongate,  as  Temple  Bar  sepa- 
rates London  from  Westminster.  It  was  of  the  utmost 
importance  to  the  rioters  to  possess  themselves  of  this 
pass,  because  there  was  quartered  in  the  Canongate  at 
that  time  a  regiment  of  infantry,  commanded  by  Colonel 
Movie,  which  might  have  occupied  the  city  by  advancing 
through  this  gate,  and  would  possess  the  power  of  totally 
defeating  their  purpose.  The  leaders  therefore  hastened 
to  the  Xetherbow  Port,  which  they  secured  in  the  same 
manner,  and  with  as  little  trouble,  as  the  other  gates, 
leaving  a  party  to  watch,  it,  strong  in  proportion  to  the 
importance  of  the  post. 

The  next  object  of  these  hardy  insurgents  was  at  once 
to  disarm  the  City  Guard,  and  to  procure  arms  for  them-^^ 
selves;  for  scarce  any  weapons  but  staves  and  bludgeons 
had  been  yet  seen  among  them.  The  guard-house  was  a 
long,  low,  ugly  building  (removed  in  1787),  which  to  a 
fanciful  imagination  might  have  suggested  the  idea  of  a 
long  black  snail  crawling  up  the  middle  of  the  High 
Street,  and  deforming  its  beautiful  esplanade.  This 
formidable  insurrection  had  been  so  unexpected,  that 
there  were  no  more  than  the  ordinary  sergeant's  guard 
of  the  city  corps  upon  duty;  even  these  were  without  any 
supply  of  powder  and  ball;  and  sensible  enough  what  had 
raised  the  storm,  and  which  way  it  was  rolling,  could 
hardly  be  supposed  very  desirous  to  expose  themselves  by 
a  valiant  defence  to  the  animosity  of  so  numerous  and 
desperate  a  mob,  to  whom  they  were  on  the  present 
occasion  much  more  than  usually  obnoxious. 

There  was  a  sentinel  upon  guard,  who  (that  one  town 
guard  soldier  might  do  his  duty  on  that  eventful  evening) 
presented  his  piece,  and  desired  the  foremost  of  the  rioters 
to  stand  off.  The  young  amazon,  whom  Butler  had  ob- 
served particularly  active,  sprung  upon  the  soldier,  seized 
his  musket,  and  after  a  struggle  succeeded  in  wrenching 
it  from  him,  and  throwing  him  down  on  the  causeway. 
One  or  two  soldiers,  who  endeavored  to  turn  out  to  the 
support  of  their  sentinel,  were  in  the  same  manner  seized 
and  disarmed,   and  the  mob  without  difficulty  possessed 


74  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

themselves  of  the  guard-house,  disarming  and  turning  out 
of  doors  the  rest  of  the  men  on  duty.  It  was  remarked, 
that,  notwithstanding  the  city  soldiers  had  been  the 
instruments  of  the  slaughter  which  this  riot  was  designed 
to  revenge,  no  ill  usage  or  even  insult  was  offered  to  them. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  vengeance  of  the  people  disdained  to 
stoop  at  any  head  meaner  than  that  which  they  considered 
as  the  source  and  origin  of  their  injuries. 

On  possessing  themselves  of  the  guard,  the  first  act  of 
the  multitude  was  to  destroy  the  drums,  by  which  they 
supposed  an  alarm  might  be  conveyed  to  the  garrison  in 
the  castle;  for  the  same  reason  they  now  silenced  their 
own,  which  was  beaten  by  a  young  fellow,  son  to  the 
drummer  of  Portsburgh,  whom  they  had  forced  upon  that 
service.  Their  next  business  was  to  distribute  among  the 
boldest  of  the  rioters  the  guns,  bayonets,  partisans,  hal- 
berds, and  battle  or  Lochaber  axes.  Until  this  period  the 
principal  rioters  had  preserved  silence  on  the  ultimate 
object  of  their  rising,  as  being  that  which  all  knew,  but 
none  expressed.  Now,  however,  having  accomplished  all 
the  preliminary  parts  of  their  design,  they  raised  a 
tremendous  shout  of  "Porteous!  Porteous!  To  the  Tol- 
booth!  To  the  Tolbooth!" 

They  proceeded  with  the  same  prudence  when  the 
object  seemed  to  be  nearly  in  their  grasp,  as  they  had 
done  hitherto  when  success  was  more  dubious.  A  strong 
party  of  the  rioters,  drawn  up  in  front  of  the  Lucken- 
booths,  and  facing  do^m  the  street,  prevented  all  access 
from  the  eastward,  and  the  west  end  of  the  defile  formed 
by  the  Luckenbooths  was  secured  in  the  same  manner; 
so  that  the  Tolbooth  was  completely  surrounded,  and  those 
who  undertook  the  task  of  breaking  it  open  effectually 
secured  against  the  risk  of  interruption. 

The  magistrates,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  taken  the  alarm, 
and  assembled  in  a  tavern,  with  the  purpose  of  raising 
some  strength  to  subdue  the  rioters.  The  deacons,  or 
presidents  of  the  trades,  were  applied  to,  but  declared 
there  was  little  chance  of  their  authority  being  respected 
by  the  craftsmen,  where  it  was  the  object  to  save  a  man 
so  obnoxious.  Mr.  Lindsay,  member  of  parliament  for 
the  city,  volunteered  the  perilous  task  of  carrying  a  verbal 
message  from  the  Lord  Provost  to   Colonel  Moyle,   the 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  75 

commander  of  the  regiment  lying  in  the  Canongate, 
requesting  him  to  force  the  Netherbow  Port,  and  enter 
the  city  to  put  down  the  tumult.  But  Mr,  Lindsay 
declined  to  charge  himself  with  any  written  order,  which, 
if  found  on  his  person  by  an  enraged  mob,  might  have 
cost  him  his  life;  and  the  issue  of  the  application  was, 
that  Colonel  Moyle,  having  no  written  requisition  from 
the  civil  authorities,  and  having  the  fate  of  Porteous 
before  his  eyes  as  an  example  of  the  severe  construction 
put  by  a  jurj'  on  the  proceedings  of  military  men  acting 
on  their  own  responsibility,  declined  to  encounter  the 
risk  to  which  the  Provost's  verbal  communication  invited 
him. 

!More  than  one  messenger  was  despatched  by  different 
ways  to  the  Castle,  to  require  the  commanding  officer  to 
march  down  his  troops,  to  fire  a  few  cannon-shot,  or  even 
to  throw  a  shell  among  the  mob,  for  the  purpose  of  clear- 
ing the  streets.  But  so  strict  and  watchful  were  the 
various  patrols  whom  the  rioters  had  established  in 
different  parts  of  the  street,  that  none  of  the  emissaries  of 
the  magistrates  could  reach  the  gate  of  the  Castle.  They 
were,  however,  turned  back  w^ithout  either  injury  or 
insult,  and  with  nothing  more  of  menace  than  was  neces- 
sary to  deter  them  from  again  attempting  to  accomplish 
their  errand. 

The  same  vigilance  was  used  to  prevent  everybody  of 
the  higher,  and  those  which,  in  this  case,  might  be  deemed 
the  more  suspicious  orders  of  society,  from  appearing  in 
the  street,  and  observing  the  movements,  or  distinguish- 
ing the  persons,  of  the  rioters.  Every  person  in  the  garb 
of  a  gentleman  was  stopped  by  small  parties  of  two  or 
three  of  the  mob,  who  partly  exhorted,  partly  required  of 
them,  that  they  should  return  to  the  place  from  whence 
they  came.  Many  a  quadrille  table  was  spoiled  that 
memorable  evening;  for  the  sedan-chairs  of  ladies,  even  of 
the  highest  rank,  were  interrupted  in  their  passage  from 
one  point  to  another,  in  spite  of  the  laced  footmen  and 
blazing  flambeaux.  This  was  uniformly  done  with  a 
deference  and  attention  to  the  feelings  of  the  territied 
females,  which  could  hardly  have  been  expected  from  the 
videttes  of  a  mob  so  desperate.  Those  who  stopped  the 
chair  usually  made  the  excuse,  that  there  was  nmch  dis- 


Y6  THE   HEAET    OE   MID-LOTHIAN 

turbance  on  the  streets,  and  that  it  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary for  the  lady's  safety  that  the  chair  should  turn  back. 
They  offered  themselves  to  escort  the  vehicles  which  they 
had  thus  interrupted  in  their  progress,  from  the  apprehen- 
sion, probably,  that  some  of  those  who  had  casually  united 
themselves  to  the  riot  might  disgrace  their  systematic  and 
determined  plan  of  vengeance,  by  those  acts  of  general 
insult  and  licence  which  are  common  on  similar  occasions. 

Persons  are  yet  living  who  remember  to  have  heard 
from  the  mouths  of  ladies  thus  interrupted  on  their  jour- 
ney in  the  manner  we  have  described,  that  they  were 
escorted  to  their  lodgings  by  the  young  men  who  stopped 
them,  and  even  handed  out  of  their  chairs,  with  a  polite 
attention  far  beyond  what  was  consistent  with  their 
dress,  which  was  apparently  that  of  journeymen  me- 
chanics.* It  seemed  as  if  the  conspirators,  like  those 
who  assassinated  the  Cardinal  Beatoun  in  former  days, 
had  entertained  the  opinion,  that  the  work  about  which 
they  went^  was  a  judgment  of  Heaven,  which,  though 
unsanctioned  by  the  usual  authorities,  ought  to  be  pro- 
ceeded in  with  order  and  gravity. 

While  their  outposts  continued  thus  vigilant,  and 
suffered  themselves  neither  from  fear  nor  curiosity  to 
neglect  that  part  of  the  duty  assigned  to  them,  and  while 
the  main  guards  to  the  east  and  west  secured  them  against 
interruption,  a  select  body  of  the  rioters  thundered  at  the 
door  of  the  jail,  and  demanded  instant  admission.  No 
one  answered,  for  the  outer  keeper  had  prudently  made  his 
escape  with  the  keys  at  the  commencement  of  the  riot, 
and  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  The  door  was  instantly 
assailed  with  sledge-hammers,  iron  crows,  and  the  coulters 
of  ploughs,  ready  provided  for  the  purpose,  with  which 
they  prized,  heaved,  and  battered  for  some  time  with  little 
effect;  for,  being  of  double  oak  planks,  clenched,  both 
end-long  and  athwart,  with  broad-headed  nails,  the  door 
was  so  secured  as  to  yield  to  no  means  of  forcing,  without 
the   expenditure   of   much   time.      The   rioters,    however, 

*  A  near  relation  of  the  author's  used  to  tell  of  having  been  stopped 
by  the  rioters,  and  escorted  home  in  the  manner  described.  On  reach- 
ing her  own  home,  one  of  her  attendants,  in  appearance  a  bavtcr,  i.e. 
a  baker's  lad,  handed  her  out  of  her  chair,  and  took  leave  with  a  bow, 
which,  in  the  lady's  opinion,  argued  breeding  that  could  hardly  be 
learned  beside  the  oven. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


t  i 


appeared  determined  to  gain  admittance.  Gang  after 
gang  relieved  each  other  at  the  exercise,  for,  of  course, 
only  a  few  could  work  at  a  time;  but  gang  after  gang 
retired,  exhausted  with  their  violent  exertions,  without 
making  much  progress  in  forcing  the  prison-door.  Butler 
had  been  led  up  near  to  this  the  principal  scene  of  action; 
so  near,  indeed,  that  he  was  almost  deafened  by  the  un- 
ceasing clang  of  the  heavy  fore-hammers  against  the  iron- 
bound  portals  of  the  prison.  He  began  to  entertain  hopes, 
as  the  task  seemed  protracted,  that  the  populace  might 
give  it  over  in  despair,  or  that  some  rescue  might  arrive 
to  disperse  them.  There  was  a  moment  at  which  the  latter 
seemed  probable. 

The  magistrates  having  assembled  their  officers,  and 
some  of  the  citizens  who  were  able  to  hazard  themselves 
for  the  public  tranquillity,  now  sallied  forth  from  the 
tavern  where  they  held  their  sitting,  and  approached  the 
point  of  danger.  Their  officers  went  before  them  with 
links  and  torches,  w^ith  a  herald  to  read  the  Riot  Act,  if 
necessary.  -They  easily  drove  before  them  the  outposts 
and  videttes  of  the  rioters;  but  w^hen  they  approached  the 
line  of  guard  which  the  mob,  or  rather,  we  should  say, 
the  conspirators,  had  drawn  across  the  street  in  the  front 
of  the  Luckenbooths,  they  were  received  with  an  uninter- 
mitted  volley  of  stones,  and,  on  their  nearer  approach, 
the  pikes,  bayonets,  and  Lochaber-axes,  of  which  the 
populace  had  possessed  themselves,  were  presented  against 
them.  One  of  their  ordinary  officers,  a  strong  resolute 
fellow,  went  forward,  seized  a  rioter,  and  took  from  him  a 
musket;  but,  being  unsupported,  he  was  instantly  thrown 
on  his  back  in  the  street,  and  disarmed  in  his  turn. 
The  officer  was  too  happy  to  be  permitted  to  rise  and  run 
away  without  receiving  any  farther  injury;  which  aiTorded 
another  remarkable  instance  of  the  mode  in  which  these 
men  had  united  a  sort  of  moderation  toward  all  others, 
with  the  most  inflexible  inveteracy  against  the  object  of 
their  resentment.  The  magistrates,  after  vain  attempts  to 
make  themselves  heard  and  obeyed,  possessing  no  means 
of  enforcing  their  authority,  were  constrained  to  abandon 
the  fields  to  the  rioters,  and  retreat  in  all  speed  from  the 
showers  of  missiles  that  whistled   around   their  ears. 

The  passive  resistance  of  the  Tolbooth  gate  promised  to 


78  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

do  more  to  baffle  the  purpose  of  the  mob  than  the  active 
interference  of  the  magistrates.  The  heavy  sledge-ham- 
mers continued  to  din  against  it  without  intermission, 
and  with  a  noise  which,  echoed  from  the  lofty  buildings 
around  the  spot,  seemed  enough  to  have  alarmed  the 
garrison  in  the  Castle.  It  was  circulated  among  the 
rioters,  that  the  troops  would  march  down  to  disperse 
them,  unless  they  could  execute  their  purpose  without 
loss  of  time;  or  that,  even  without  quitting  the  fortress, 
the  garrison  might  obtain  the  same  end  by  throwing  a 
bomb  or  two  upon  the  street. 

Urged  by  such  motives  for  apprehension,  they  eagerly 
relieved  each  other  at  the  labor  of  assailing  the  Tolbooth 
door:  yet  such  was  its  strength,  that  it  still  defied  their 
efforts.  At  length,  a  voice  was  heard  to  pronounce  the 
words,  ''Try  it  with  fire."  The  rioters,  with  an  unanimous 
shout,  called  for  combustibles,  and  as  all  their  wishes 
seemed  to  be  instantly  supplied,  they  were  soon  in  posses- 
sion of  two  or  three  empty  tar-barrels.  A  huge  red 
glaring  bonfire  speedily  arose  close  to  the  door  of  the 
prison,  sending  up  a  tall  column  of  smoke  and  flame 
against  its  antique  turrets  and  strongly  grated  windows, 
and  illuminating  the  ferocious  and  wild  gestures  of  the 
rioters  who  surrounded  the  place,  as  well  as  the  pale  and 
anxious  groups  of  those,  who,  from  windows  in  the  vicin- 
age, watched  the  progress  of  this  alarming  scene.  The 
mob  fed  the  fire  with  whatever  they  could  find  fit  for  the 
purpose.  The  flames  roared  and  crackled  among  the 
heaps  of  nourishment  piled  on  the  fire,  and  a  terrible 
shout  soon  announced  that  the  door  had  kindled,  and 
was  in  the  act  of  being  destroyed.  The  fire  was  suffered 
to  decay,  but,  long  ere  it  was  quite  extinguished,  the 
most  forward  of  the  rioters  rushed,  in  their  impatience, 
one  after  another,  over  its  yet  smouldering  remains.  Thick 
showers  of  sparkles  rose  high  in  the  air,  as  man  after 
man  bounded  over  the  glowing  embers,  and  disturbed 
them  in  their  passage.  It  was  now  obvious  to  Butler,  and 
all  others  who  were  present,  that  the  rioters  would  be 
instantly  in  possession  of  their  victim,  and  have  it  in 
their  power  to  work  their  pleasure  upon  him,  whatever 
that  might  be.* ^_____^____ 

*  Note  I.— The  Old  Tolbooth. 


THE   HEART    OF   :MID-L0THIAN  79 


CHAPTER   VII 

The   evil  you  teach   us,  we   will   execute;    and   it   shall   go   hard 
but  we   will  better  the  instruction. 

Merchant  of  Venice, 

The  unhappy  object  o'f  this  remarkable  disturbance  had 
been  that  day  delivered  from  the  apprehension  of  a  public 
execution,  and  his  joy  was  the  greater,  as  he  had  some 
reason  to  question  whether  government  would  have  run 
the  risk  of  unpopularity  by  interfering  in  his  favor,  after 
he  had  been  legally  convicted  by  the  verdict  of  a  jury,  of  a 
crime  so  very  obnoxious.  Relieved  from  this  doubtful 
state  of  mind,  his  heart  was  merry  within  him,  and  he 
thought,  in  the  emphatic  words  of  Scripture  on  a  similar 
occasion,  that  surely  the  bitterness  of  death  was'  past. 
Some  of  his  friends,  however,  who  had  watched  the  man- 
ner and  behavior  of  the  crowd  when  they  were  made 
acquainted  with  the  reprieve,  were  of  a  different  opinion. 
They  augured,  from  the  unusual  sternness  and  silence 
with  which  they  bore  their  disappointment,  that  the 
populace  nourished  some  scheme  of  sudden  and  desperate 
vengeance;  and  they  advised  Porteous  to  lose  no  time  in 
petitioning  the  proper  authorities,  that  he  might  be  con- 
veyed to  the  Castle  under  a  sufficient  guard,  to  remain 
there  in  security  until  his  ultimate  fate  should  be  de- 
termined. Habituated,  however,  by  his  office,  to  overawe 
the  rabble  of  the  city,  Porteous  could  not  suspect  them 
of  an  attempt  so  audacious  as  to  storm  a  strong  and 
defensible  prison;  and,  despising  the  advice  by  which  he 
might  have  been  saved,  he  spent  the  afternoon  of  the 
eventful  day  in  giving  an  entertainment  to  some  friends 
who  visited  him  in  jail,  several  of  whom,  by  the  indul- 
gence of  the  Captain  of  the  Tolbooth,  with  whom  he  had 
an  old  intimacy,  arising  from  their  official  connection, 
were  even  permitted  to  remain  to  supper  with  him, 
though  contrary  to  the  rules  of  the  jail. 

It  was,  therefore,  in  the  hour  of  unalloyed  mirth,  when 
this  unfortunate  wretch  was  **full  of  bread,"  hot  with 
wine,  and  high  in  mistimed  and  ill-grounded  confidence, 


80  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

and  alas!  with  all  his  sins  full-blown,  when  the  first 
distant  shouts  of  the  rioters  mingled  with  the  song  of 
merriment  and  intemperance.  The  hurried  call  of  the 
jailer  to  the  guests,  requiring  them  instantly  to  depart, 
and  his  yet  more  hasty  intimation  that  a  dreadful  and 
determined  mob  had  possessed  themselves  of  the  city 
gates  and  guard-house,  were  the  first  explanations  of  these 
fearful  clamors. 

Porteous  might,  however,  have  eluded  the  fury  from 
which  the  force  of  authority  could  not  protect  him,  had 
he  thought  of  slipping  on  some  disguise,  and  leaving  the 
prison  along  with  his  guests.  It  is  probable  that  the 
jailer  might  have  connived  at  his  escape,  or  even  that,  in 
the  hurry  of  this  alarming  contingency,  he  might  not  have 
observed  it.  But  Porteous  and  his  friends  alike  wanted 
presence  of  mind  to  suggest  or  execute  such  a  plan  of 
escape.  The  former  hastily  fled  from  a  place  where  their 
own  safety  seemed  compromised,  and  the  latter,  in  a  state 
resembling  stupefaction,  awaited  in  his  apartment  the 
termination  of  the  enterprise  of  the  rioters.  The  cessation 
of  the  clang  of  the  instruments  with  which  they  had  at 
first  attempted  to  force  the  door,  gave  him  momentary 
relief.  The  flattering  hopes,  that  the  military  had  marched 
into  the  city,  either  from  the  Castle  or  from  the  suburbs, 
and  that  the  rioters  were  intimidated  and  dispersing, 
were  soon  destroyed  by  the  broad  and  glaring  light  of  the 
flames,  which,  illuminating  through  the  grated  window 
every  corner  of  his  apartment,  plainly  showed  that  the 
mob,  determined  on  their  fatal  purpose,  had  adopted  a 
means  of  forcing  entrance  equally  desperate  and  certain. 

The  sudden  glare  of  light  suggested  to  the  stupefied  and 
astonished  object  of  popular  hatred  the  possibility  of  con- 
cealment or  escape.  To  rush  to  the  chimney,  to  ascend  it 
at  the  risk  of  suffocation,  were  the  only  means  which 
seemed  to  have  occurred  to  him;  but  his  progress  was 
speedily  stopped  by  one  of  those  iron  gratings,  which  are, 
for  the  sake  of  security,  usually  placed  across  the  vents  of 
buildings  designed  for  imprisonment.  The  bars,  however, 
which  impeded  his  farther  progress,  served  to  support 
him  in  the  situation  which  he  had  gained,  and  he  seized 
them  with  the  tenacious  grasp  of  one  who  esteemed  him- 
self clinging  to  his  last  hope  of  existence.    The  lurid  light, 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  81 

which  had  filled  the  apartment,  lowered  and  died  away; 
the  sound  of  shouts  was  heard  within  the  walls,  and  on  the 
narrow  and  winding  stair,  which,  cased  within  one  of  the 
turrets,  {j:ave  access  to  the  upper  apartments  of  the  prison. 
The  huzza  of  the  rioters  was  answered  by  a  shout  wild 
and  desperate  as  their  own,  the  cry,  namely,  of  the  im- 
prisoned felons,  who,  expecting  to  be  liberated  in  the 
general  confusion,  welcomed  the  mob  as  their  deliverers. 
By  some  of  these  the  apartment  of  Porteous  was  pointed 
out  to  his  enemies.  The  obstacle  of  the  lock  and  bolts 
was  soon  overcome,  and  from  his  hiding-place  the  un- 
fortunate man  heard  his  enemies  search  every  corner  of 
the  apartment,  with  oaths  and  maledictions,  which  would 
but  shock  the  reader  if  we  recorded  them,  but  which 
served  to  prove,  could  it  have  admitted  of  doubt,  the 
settled  purpose  of  soul  with  which  they  sought  his  de- 
struction. 

A  place  of  concealment  so  obvious  to  suspicion  and 
scrutiny'  as  that  which  Porteous  had  chosen,  could  not 
long  screen  him  from  detection.  He  was  dragged  from 
his  lurking-place,  with  a  violence  which  seemed  to  argue 
an  intention  to  put  him  to  death  on  the  spot.  More  than 
one  weapon  was  directed  toward  him,  when  one  of  the 
rioters,  the  same  whose  female  disguise  had  been  par- 
ticularly noticed  by  Butler,  interfered  in  an  authoritative 
tone.  "Are  ye  mad?"  he  said,  "or  would  ye  execute  an 
act  of  justice  as  if  it  were  a  crime  and  a  cruelty?  This 
sacrifice  will  lose  half  its  savor  if  we  do  not  offer  it  at 
the  very  horns  of  the  altar.  We  will  have  him  die  where 
a  murderer  should  die,  on  the  common  gibbet — We  will 
have   him   die   where   he   spilled   the    blood    of   so    many 


innocents!'' 

A  loud  shout  of  applause  followed  the  proposal  and 
the  cry,  "To  the  gallows  with  the  nuirdcrer! — To  the 
Grassmarket  with  him!"  echoed  on  all  hands. 

"Let  no  man  hurt  him,"  continued  the  speaker;  "let 
him  make  his  peace  with  God,  if  he  can;  we  will  not  kill 
both  his  soul  and  body." 

"What  time  did  he  give  better  folk  for  preparing  their 
account?"  answered  several  voices.  "Let  us  mete  to  him 
with  the  same  measure  he  measured  to  them." 

But   the   oi)inion    of   the   spokesman    better   suited    the 


82  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

temper  of  those  he  addressed,  a  temper  rather  stubborn 
than  impetuous,  sedate  though  ferocious,  and  desirous  of 
coloring  their  cruel  and  revengeful  action  with  a  show  of 
justice  and  moderation. 

For  an  instant  this  man  quitted  the  prisoner,  whom  he 
consigned  to  a  selected  guard,  with  instructions  to  per- 
mit him  to  give  his  money  and  property  to  whomsoever  he 
pleased.  A  person  confined  in  the  jail  for  debt  received 
this  last  deposit  from  the  trembling  hand  of  the  victim, 
who  was  at  the  same  time  permitted  to  make  some  other 
brief  arrangements  to  meet  his  approaching  fate.  The 
felons,  and  all  others  who  wished  to  leave  the  jail,  were 
now  at  full  liberty  to  do  so ;  not  that  their  liberation  made 
any  part  of  the  settled  purpose  of  the  rioters,  but  it  fol- 
lowed as  almost  a  necessary  consequence  of  forcing  the  jail 
doors.  With  wild  cries  of  jubilee  they  joined  the  mob, 
or  disappeared  among  the  narrow  lanes  to  seek  out  the 
hidden  receptacles  of  vice  and  infamy,  where  they  were 
accustomed  to  lurk  and  conceal  themselves  from  justice. 

Two  persons,  a  man  about  fifty  years  old,  and  a  girl 
about  eighteen,  were  all  who  continued  within  the  fatal 
walls,  excepting  two  or  three  debtors,  who  probably  saw 
no  advantage  in  attempting  their  escape.  The  persons 
we  have  mentioned  remained  in  the  strong-room  of  the 
prison,  now  deserted  by  all  others.  One  of  their  late 
companions  in  misfortune  called  out  to  the  man  to  make 
his  escape,  in  the  tone  of  an  acquaintance.  "Ein  for  it, 
Ratcliffe — the  road's  clear." 

'Tt  may  be  sae,  Willie,"  answered  Ratcliffe  composedly, 
"but  I  have  taen  a  fancy  to  leave  aff  trade,  and  set  up  for 
an  honest  man." 

"Stay  there,  and  be  hanged,  then,  for  a  donnard  auld 
deevil!"  said  the  other,  and  ran  down  the  prison-stair. 

The  person  in  female  attire  whom  we  have  distinguished 
as  one  of  the  most  active  rioters,  was  about  the  same  time 
at  the  ear  of  the  young  woman.  "Flee,  Effie,  flee!"  was 
all  he  had  time  to  whisper.  She  turned  toward  him  an 
eye  of  mingled  fear,  affection,  and  upbraiding,  all  con- 
tending with  a  sort  of  stupefied  surprise.  He  again  re- 
peated, "Flee,  Effie,  flee,  for  the  sake  of  all  that's  good 
and  dear  to  you !"  Again  she  gazed  on  him,  but  was  un- 
able to  answer.     A  loud  noise  was  now  heard,   and  the 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  83 

name  of  Madge  Wildfire  was  repeatedly  called  from  the 
bottom  of  the  staircase. 

'T  am  coming, — I  am  coming,"  said  the  person  who 
answered  to  that  appellative;  and  then  reiterating  hastily, 
"For  God's  sake — for  your  own  sake — for  my  sake,  flee, 
or  they'll  take  jout  life!"  he  left  the  strong-room. 

The  girl  gazed  after  him  for  a  moment^  and  then, 
faintly  muttering,  "Better  tyne  life,  since  tint  is  gude 
fame,"  she  sunk  her  head  upon  her  hand,  and  remained, 
seemingly  unconscious  as  a  statue,  of  the  noise  and 
tumult  which  passed  around  her. 

That  tumult  was  now  transferred  from  the  inside  to  the 
outside  of  the  Tolbooth.  The  mob  had  brought  their 
destined  victim  forth,  and  were  about  to  conduct  him  to 
the  common  place  of  execution,  which  they  -had  fixed  as 
the  scene  of  his  death.  The  leader,  whom  they  dis- 
tinguished by  the  name  of  Madge  Wildfire,  had  been 
summoned  to  assist  at  the  procession  by  the  impatient 
shouts  of  his  confederates. 

"I  will  insure  you  five  hundred  pounds,"  said  the  un- 
happy man,  grasping  Wildfire's  hand, — '*five  hundred 
pounds  for  to  save  my  life." 

The  other  answered  in  the  same  undertone,  and  return- 
ing his  grasp  with  one  equally  convulsive,  "Five  hundred- 
weight of  coined  gold  should  not  save  you. — Remember 
Wilson !" 

A  deep  pause  of  a  minute  ensued,  when  Wildfire  added, 
in  a  more  composed  tone,  "Make  your  peace  with  Heaven. 
— Where  is  the  clergyman?" 

Butle"^  who,  in  great  terror  and  anxiety,  had  been 
detained  within  a  few  yards  of  the  Tolbooth  door,  to  wait 
the  event  of  the  search  after  Porteous,  was  now  brought 
forward,  and  commanded  to  walk  by  the  prisoner's  side, 
and  to  prepare  him  for  immediate  death.  His  answer 
was  a  supplication  that  the  rioters  would  consider  what 
they  did.  "You  are  neither  judges  nor  jurs%"  said  he. 
"You  cannot  have,  by  the  laws  of  God  or  man,  power  to 
take  away  the  life  of  a  human  creature,  however  deserving 
he  may  be  of  death.  If  it  is  murder  even  in  a  lawful 
magistrate  to  execute  an  offender  otherwise  than  in  the 
place,  time,  and  manner  which  the  judges'  sentence 
prescribes,  what  must  it  be  in  you,  who  have  no  warrant 


84  *THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  ^ 

for  interference  but  your  own  wills  ?    In  the  name  of  Him  . 

who  is  all  mercy,  show  mercy  to  this  unhappy  man,  and  ■ 

do  not  dip  your  hands  in  his  blood,  nor  rush  into  the  very  j 

crime  which  you  are  desirous  of  avenging!"  ' 

"Cut  your  sermon  short — ^you  are  not  in  your  pulpit,"  ; 
answered  one  of  the  rioters. 

"If  we  hear  more  of  your  clavers,"  said  another,  "we  i 

are  like  to  hang  ^you  up  beside  him."  j 

"Peace — hush!"  said  Wildfire.     "Do  the  good  man  no  i 

harm — he  discharges  his  conscience,  and  I  like  him  the  ' 

better."  ' 

He  then  addressed  Butler.    "Now,  sir,  we  have  patiently  \ 

heard  you,  and  we  just  wish  you  to  understand,  in  the  ■ 

way  of  answer,  that  you  may  as  well  argue  to  the  ashlar-  ' 

work    and    iron   stanchels    of    the    Tolbooth    as    think    to  i 

change  our  purpose — Blood  must  have  blood.     We  have  | 

sworn   to    each    other    by    the    deepest    oaths    ever    were  i 

pledged,  that  Porteous  shall  die  the  death  he  deserves  so  ; 
richly;  therefore,  speak  no  more  to  us,  but  prepare  him 
for  death   as   well   as   the   briefness   of   his   change   will 
permit." 

They  had  suffered  the  unfortunate  Porteous  to  put  on  j 

his  night-gown  and  slippers,  as  he  had  thrown  off  his  coat  \ 

and  shoes,  in  order  to  facilitate  his  attempted  escape  up  | 

the  chimney.     In  this  garb  he  was  now  mounted  on  the  ' 

hands  of  two  of  the  rioters,  clasped  together,  so  as  to  form  I 

what  is  called  in  Scotland,  "The  King's  Cushion."    Butler  i 

was  placed  close  to  his  side,  and  repeatedly  urged  to  i)er-  | 

form  a  duty  always  the  most  painful  which  can  be  im-  ' 
posed  on  a  clergyman  deserving  of  the  name,  and  now 

rendered   more   so   by   the   peculiar   and   horrid   circum-  ; 

stances  of  the  criminal's  case.     Porteous  at  first  uttered  ■ 

some  supplications  for  mercy,  but  when  he  found  there  ' 

was  no  chance  that  these  would  be  attended  to,  his  mili-  j 

tary    education,    and    the    natural    stubbornness    of    his  | 
disposition,  combined  to  support  his  spirits. 

"Are  you  prepared  for  this  dreadful  end?"  said  Butler  ; 
in  a  faltering  voice.   "Oh  turn  to  Him,  in  whose  eyes  time 
and  space  have  no  existence,  and  to  whom  a  few  minutes 
are  as  a  lifetime,  and  a  lifetime  as  a  minute." 

"I    believe    I    know   what   you    would    say,"    answered  | 

Porteous   sullenly.     "I  was  bred  a   soldier;   if  they  will  ; 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  85 

murder  me  without  time,  let  my  sins  as  well  as  my  blood 
lie  at  their  door." 

''Who  was  it,"  said  the  stern  voice  of  Wildfire,  "that 
said  to  Wilson,  at  this  very  spot,  when  he  could  not  pray, 
owing  to  the  galling  agony  of  his  fetters,  that  his  pains 
would  soon  be  over? — I  say  to  you  to  take  your  own  tale 
home;  and  if  you  cannot  profit  by  the  good  man's  lessons, 
blame  not  them  that  are  still  more  merciful  to  you  than 
you  were  to  others." 

The  procession  now  moved  forward  with  a  slow  and 
determined  pace.  It  was  enlightened  by  many  blazing 
links  and  torches;  for  the  actors  of  this  work  were  so  far 
from  affecting  any  secrecy  on  the  occasion,  that  they 
seemed  even  to  court  observation.  Their  principal  leaders 
kept  close  to  the  x)erson  of  the  prisoner,  whose  pallid  yet 
stubborn  features  were  seen  distinctly  by  the  torchlight, 
as  his  person  was  raised  considerably  above  the  concourse 
which  thronged  around  him.  Those  who  bore  swords, 
muskets,  and  battle-axes,  marched  on  each  side,  as  if 
forming  a  regular  guard  to  the  procession.  The  windows, 
as  they  went  along,  were  filled  with  the  inhabitants,  whose 
slumbers  had  been  broken  by  this  unusual  disturbance. 
Some  of  the  spectators  muttered  accents  of  encourage- 
ment; but  in  general  they  were  so  much  appalled  by  a 
sight  so  strange  and  audacious,  that  they  looked  on  with 
a  sort  of  stupefied  astonishment.  No  one  offered,  by  act 
or  word,  the  slightest  interruption. 

The  rioters,  on  their  part,  continued  to  act  with  the 
same  air  of  deliberate  confidence  and  security  which  had 
marked  all  their  proceedings.  When  the  object  of  their 
resentment  dropped  one  of  his  slippers,  they  stopped, 
sought  for  it,  and  replaced  it  upon  his  foot  with  great 
flclibcration.*  As  they  descended  the  Bow  toward  the  fa- 
tal spot  where  they  designed  to  complete  their  purpose, 
it  was  suggested  that  there  should  be  a  rope  kept  in  readi- 
ness. For  this  purj)ose  the  booth  of  a  man  who  dealt 
in  cordage  was  forced  open,  a  coil  of  rope  fit  for  their 
purpose  was  selected  to  serve  as  a  halter,  and  the  dealer 
next  morning  found  that  a  guinea  had   been  left  on   his 

•  This  little  iiiciflcnt,  characteristic  of  the  extreme  cnmpnstirc  of  this 
extraorflinary  mob,  was  witnessed  Ity  a  lady,  who,  disturbed,  like  others, 
from  her  slumbers,  had  gone  to  the  window.  It  was  told  to  the  author 
by  the   lady's  daughter. 


86  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN      • 

counter  in  exchange;  so  anxious  were  the  perpetrators  of 
this  daring  action  to  show  that  they  meditated  not  the 
slightest  wrong  or  infraction  of  law,  excepting  so  far  as 
Porteous  was  himself  concerned. 

Leading,  or  carrying  along  with  them,  in  this  deter- 
mined and  regular  manner,  the  object  of  their  vengeance, 
they  at  length  reached  the  place  of  common  execution,  the 
scene  of  his  crime,  and  destined  spot  of  his  sufferings. 
Several  of  the  rioters  (if  they  should  not  rather  be  de- 
scribed as  conspirators)  endeavored  to  remove  the  stone 
which  filled  up  the  socket  in  which  the  end  of  the  fatal 
tree  was  sunk  when  it  was  erected  for  its  fatal  puriDose; 
others  sought  for  the  means  of  constructing  a  temporary 
gibbet,  the  place  in  which  the  gallows  itself  was  deposited 
being  reported  too  secure  to  be  forced,  without  much  loss 
of  time.  Butler  endeavored  to  avail  himself  of  the  delay 
afforded  by  these  circumstances,  to  turn  the  people  from 
their  desperate  design.  "For  God's  sake,"  he  exclaimed, 
"remember  it  is  the  image  of  your  Creator  which  you  are 
about  to  deface  in  the  person  of  this  unfortunate  man! 
Wretched  as  he  is,  and  wicked  as  he  may  be,  he  has 
a  share  in  every  promise  of  Scripture,  and  you  cannot 
destroy  him  in  impenitence  without  blotting  his  name 
from  the  Book  of  Life — Do  riot  destroy  soul  and  body; 
give  time  for  preparation." 

"What  time  had  they,"  returned  a  stern  voice,  "whom 
he  murdered  on  this  very  spot? — The  laws  both  of  God 
and  man  call  for  his  death." 

"But  what,  my  friends,"  insisted  Butler,  with  a  gener- 
ous disregard  to  his  own  safety — "what  hath  constituted 
you  his  judges?" 

"We  are  not  his  judges,"  replied  the  same  person ;  "he 
has  been  already  judged  and  condemned  by  lawful  author- 
ity. We  are  those  whom  Heaven,  and  our  righteous  anger, 
have  stirred  up  to  execute  judgment,  when  a  corrupt 
government  would  have  protected  a  murderer." 

"I  am  none,"  said  the  unfortunate  Porteous;  "that 
which  you  charge  upon  me  fell  out  in  self-defence,  in  the 
lawful  exercise  of  my  duty." 

"Away  with  him — away  with  him!"  was  the  general 
cry.  "Why  do  you  trifle  away  time  in  making  a  gallows  ? 
— that  dyester's  pole  is  good  enough  for  the  homicide." 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  87 

The  unhappy  man  was  forced  to  his  fate  with  remorse- 
less rapidity.  Butler,  separated  from  him  by  the  press, 
escaped  the  last  horrors  of  his  struggles.  Unnoticed  by 
those  who  had  hitherto  detained  him  as  a  prisoner,  he 
fled  from  the  fatal  spot,  without  much  caring  in  what 
direction  his  course  lay.  A  loud  shout  proclaimed  the 
stern  delight  with  which  the  agents  of  this  deed  regarded 
its  completion.  Butler,  then,  at  the  opening  into  the  low 
street  called  the  Cowgate,  cast  back  a  terrified  glance,  and, 
by  the  red  and  dusky  light  of  the  torches,  he  could  dis- 
cern a  figure  wavering  and  struggling  as  it  hung  sus- 
pended above  the  heads  of  the  multitude,  and  could  even 
observe  men  striking  at  it  with  their  Lochaber-axes  and 
partisans.  The  sight  was  of  a  nature  to  double  his  horror, 
and  to   add  wings  to  his  flight. 

The  street  down  which  the  fugitive  ran  opens  to  one 
of  the  eastern  ports  or  gates  of  the  city.  Butler  did  not 
stop  till  he  reached  it,  but  found  it  still  shut.  He  waited 
nearly  an  hour,  w^alking  up  and  down  in  inexpressible 
perturbation  of  mind.  At  length  he  ventured  to  call  out, 
and  rouse  the  attention  of  the  terrified  keepers  of  the 
gate,  who  now  found  themselves  at  liberty  to  resume  their 
office  without  interruption.  Butler  requested  them  to 
open  the  gate.  They  hesitated.  He  told  them  his  name 
and  occupation. 

''He  is  a  preacher,"  said  one;  "I  have  heard  him  preach 
in  Haddo's  Hole." 

"A  fine  preaching  has  he  been  at  the  night,"  said  an- 
other; "but  maybe  least  said  is  sunest  mended." 

Opening  then  the  wicket  of  the  main  gate,  the  keepers 
sufi'ered  Butler  to  depart,  who  hastened  to  carry  his  horror 
and  fear  beyond  the  walls  of  Edinburgh.  His  first  pur- 
pose was,  instantly  to  take  the  road  homeward;  but 
other  fears  and  cares,  connected  with  the  news  he  had 
learned  in  that  remarkable  day,  induced  him  to  linger 
in  the  neighborhood  of  P^dinbiirgh  until  daybreak.  More 
than  one  group  of  persons  passed  him  as  he  was  whiling 
away  the  hours  of  darkness  that  yet  remained,  whom, 
from  the  stifled  tones  of  their  discourse,  the  unwonted 
hour  when  they  travelled,  and  the  hasty  pace  at  which 
they  walked,  he  conjectured  to  have  been  engaged  in  the 
late  fatal  transaction. 


88  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Certain  it  was,  that  the  sudden  and  total  dispersion  of 
the  rioters,  when  their  vindictive  purpose  was  accom- 
plished, seemed  not  the  least  remarkable  feature  of  this 
singular  affair.  In  general,  whatever  may  be  the  im- 
pelling motive  by  which  a  mob  is  at  first  raised,  the 
attainment  of  their  object  has  usually  been  only  found  to 
lead  the  way  to  further  excesses.  But  not  so  in  the 
present  case.  They  seemed  completely  satiated  with  the 
vengeance  they  had  prosecuted  with  such  stanch  and 
sagacious  activity.  When  they  were  fully  satisfied  that 
life  had  abandoned  their  victim,  they  dispersed  in  every 
direction,  throwing  down  the  weapons  which  they  had 
only  assumed  to  enable  them  to  carry  through  their  pur- 
pose. At  daybreak  there  remained  not  the  least  token 
of  the  events  of  the  night,  excepting  the  corpse  of 
Porteous,  which  still  hung  suspended  in  the  place  where 
he  had  suffered,  and  the  arms  of  various  kinds  which  the 
rioters  had  taken  from  the  city  guard-house,  which  were 
found  scattered  about  the  streets  as  they  had  thrown  them 
from  their  hands,  when  the  purpose  for  which  they  had 
seized  them  was  accomplished. 

The  ordinary  magistrates  of  the  city  resumed  their 
power,  not  without  trembling  at  the  late  experience  of 
the  fragility  of  its  tenure.  To  march  troops  into  the 
city,  and  commence  a  severe  inquiry  into  the  transactions 
of  the  preceding  night,  were  the  first  marks  of  returning 
energy  which  they  displayed.  But  these  events  had  been 
conducted  on  so  secure  and  well-calcuiaxed  a  plan  of 
safety  and  secrecy,  that  there  was  little  or  nothing  learned 
to  throw  light  upon  the  authors  or  principal  actors  in  a 
scheme  so  audacious.  An  express  was  despatched  to 
London  with  the  tidings,  where  they  excited  great  in- 
dignation and  surprise  in  the  council  of  regency,  and 
particularly  in  the  bosom  of  Queen  Caroline,  who  con- 
sidered her  own  authority  as  exposed  to  contempt  by  the 
success  of  this  singular  conspiracy.  Nothing  was  spoken 
of  for  some  time  save  the  measure  of  vengeance  which 
should  be  taken,  not  only  on  the  actors  of  this  tragedy, 
so  soon  as  they  should  be  discovered,  but  upon  the  magis- 
trates who  had  suffered  it  to  take  place,  and  upon  the  city 
which  had  been  the  scene  where  it  was  exhibited.  On 
this  occasion,  it  is  still  recorded  in  popular  tradition,  that 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  89 

her  Majesty,  in  the  height  of  her  displeasure,  told  the 
celebrated  John,  Duke  of  Argyle,  that,  sooner  than  submit 
to  such  an  insult,  she  would  make  Scotland  a  hunting- 
field.  "In  that  case,  Madam,"  answered  that  high-spirited 
nobleman,  with  a  profound  bow,  'T  will  take  leave  of  your 
^lajesty,  and  go  down  to  my  own  country  to  get  my 
hounds  ready." 

The  import  of  the  reply  had  more  than  met  the  ear;  and 
as  most  of  the  Scottish  nobility  and  gentry  seemed  actu- 
ated by  the  same  national  spirit,  the  royal  displeasure 
was  necessarily  checked  in  mid-volley,  and  milder  courses 
were  recommended  and  adopted,  to  some  of  which  we  may 
hereafter  have  occasion  to  advert. 


NOTE  I 

^Iemobial  concerning  the  ^Murder  of  Captain  Porteous 

The  following  interesting  and  authentic  account  of  the  in- 
quiries made  by  Crown  Counsel  into  the  alFair  of  the  Porteous 
Mob,  seems  to  have  been  drawn  up  by  the  Solicitor-General. 
The  office  was  held  in  1737  by  Charles  Erskine,  Esq. 

I  owe  this  curious  illustration  to  the  kindness  of  a  profes- 
sional friend.  It  throws,  indeed,  little  light  on  the  origin  of  the 
tumult;  but  shows  how  profound  tiie  darkness  must  have  been, 
which  so  much  investigation  could  not  dispel. 

"Upon  the  7th  of  September  last,  when  the  unhappy  wicked 
murder  of  Captain  Porteous  was  committed.  His  Majesty's 
Advocate  and  Solicitor  were  out  of  town;  the  first  beyond 
Inverness,  and  the  other  in  Annandale,  not  far  from  Carlyle; 
neither  of  them  knew  any  thing  of  the  reprieve,  nor  did  they 
in  the  least  suspect  that  any  disorder  was  to  happen. 

"When  the  disorder  happened,  tlie  magistrates  and  other  per- 
sons concerned  in  the  management  of  the  town,  seemed  to  be 
all  struck  of  a  heap;  and  whether  from  the  great  terror  that 
had  sei/.fd  all  the  inhabitants,  they  thought  an  immediate  in- 
quiry would  be  fruitless,  or  whether,  being  a  direct  insult 
upon  the  prerogative  of  the  crown,  tliey  did  not  care  rashly 
to  int<'rmed(lle;  but  no  proceedings  was  had  by  tiiem.  Only, 
soon  after,  ane  express  was  sent  to  his  Majesties  Solicitor,  who 
came  to  town  as  soon  as  was  possible  for  him,  but,  in  the 
meantime,  the  persons  who  had  been  most  guilty,  had  either 
run  off,  or,  at  least,  kept  themselves  upon  the  wing  until  they 
should  see  what  st<'p3  were  taken  by   the  (iovernnirnt. 

"When  the  Solicitor  arrived,  he  perceived  the  whole  inhabi- 


90  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

tants  under  a  consternation.  He  had  no  materials  furnished 
him;  nay,  the  inhabitants  were  so  much  afraid  of  being  re- 
puted informers,  that  very  few  people  had  so  much  as  the 
courage  to  speak  with  him  on  the  streets.  However,  having 
received  her  Majesties  orders,  by  a  letter  from  the  Duke  of 
Newcastle,  he  resolved  to  sett  about  the  matter  in  earnest, 
and  entered  upon  ane  enquiry,  giopeing  in  the  dark.  He  had 
no  assistance  from  the  magistrates  worth  mentioning,  but 
called  witness  after  witness  in  the  privatest  manner,  before 
himself  in  his  own  house,  and  for  six  weeks  time,  from  morn- 
ing to  evening,  went  on  in  the  enquiry  without  taking  the 
least  diversion,  or  turning  his  thoughts  to  any  other  business. 

"He  tried  at  first  what  he  could  do  by  declarations,  by  en- 
gaging secrecy,  so  that  those  who  told  the  truth  should  never 
be  discovered :  made  use  of  no  clerk,  but  wrote  all  the  declara- 
tions with  his  own  hand,  to  encourage  them  to  speak  out. 
After  all,  for  some  time,  he  could  get  nothing  but  ends  of 
stories  which,  when  pursued,  broke  off;  and  those  who  appeared 
and  knew  anything  of  the  matter,  were  under  the  utmost 
terror,  lest  it  should  take  air  that  they  had  mentioned  any 
one  man  as  guilty. 

"During  the  course  of  the  enquiry,  the  run  of  the  town, 
which  was  strong  for  the  villanous  actors,  begun  to  alter  a 
little,  and  when  they  saw  the  King's  servants  in  earnest  to  do 
their  best,  the  generality,  who  before  had  spoken. very  warmly 
in  defence  of  the  wickedness,  begun  to  be  silent,  and  at  that 
period  more  of  the  criminals  begun  to  abscond. 

"At  length  the  enquiry  began  to.  open  a  little,  and  the 
Solicitor  was  under  some  difficulty  how  to  proceed.  He  very 
well  saw  that  the  first  warrand  that  was  issued  out  would 
start  the  whole  gang;  and  as  he  had  not  come  at  any  one  of 
the  most  notorious  offenders,  he  was  unwilling,  upon  the  slight 
evidence  he  had,  to  begin.  However,  upon  notice  given  him 
by  Generall  Moyle,  that  one  King,  a  butcher  in  the  Canongate, 
had  boasted  in  presence  of  Bridget  Knell,  a'  soldier's  wife,  the 
morning  after  Captain  Porteous  was  hanged,  that  he  had  a 
very  active  hand  in  the  mob,  a  warrand  was  issued  out,  and 
King  was  apprehended  and  imprisoned  in  the  Canongate  tol- 
booth. 

"This  obliged  the  Solicitor  immediately  to  proceed  to  take 
up  those  against  whom  he  had  any  information.  By  a  signed 
declaration,  William  Stirling,  apprentice  to  James  Stirling, 
merchant  in  Edinburgh,  was  charged  as  haveing  been  at  the 
Nether-Bow,  after  the  gates  were  shutt,  with  a  Lochaber  ax, 
or  halbert  in  his  hand,  and  haveing  begun  a  huzza,  marched 
upon  the  head  of  the  mob  towards  the  Guard. 

"James  Braidwood,  son  to  a  candlemaker  in  town,  was,  by 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  91 

a  signed  declaration,  charged  as  haveing  been  at  the  Tolbooth 
door,  giveing  directions  to  the  mob  about  setting  fire  to  the 
door,  and  that  the  mob  named  him  by  his  name,  and  asked  his 
advice. 

*'By  another  declaration,  one  Stoddart,  a  journeyman  smith, 
was  charged  of  haveing  boasted  publickly,  in  a  smith's  shop 
at  Leith,  that  he  had  assisted  in  breaking  open  the  Tolbooth 
door. 

'"Peter  Traill,  a  journeyman  wright,  by  one  of  the  declara- 
tions, was  also  accused  of  haveing  lockt  the  Nether-Bow  I'ort 
when  it  was  shutt  by  the  mob. 

"His  Majesties  Solicitor  having  these  informations,  imployed 
privately  such  persons  as  he  could  best  rely  on,  and  the  truth 
was,  there  were  very  few  in  whom  he  could  repose  confidence. 
But  he  was,  indeed,  faithfully  served  by  one  Webster,  a  soldier 
in  the  Welsh  fuzileers,  recommended  to  him  by  Lieutenant 
Alshton,  who,  with  very  great  address,  informed  himself,  and 
really  run  some  risque  in  getting  his  information,  concerning 
the  places  where  the  persons  informed  against  used  to  haunt, 
and  how  they  might  be  seized.  In  consequence  of  which,  a 
party  of  the  Guard  from  the  Canongate  was  agreed  on  to 
march  up  at  a  certain  hour,  when  a  message  should  be  sent. 
The  Solicitor  wrote  a  letter  and  gave  it  t-o  one  of  the  town 
officers,  ordered  to'  attend  Captain  ^laitland,  one  of  the  town 
Captains,  promoted  to  that  command  since  the  unhappy  acci- 
dent, who,  indeed,  was  extremely  diligent  and  active  through- 
out the  whole;  and  haveing  got  Stirling  and  Braidwood  ap- 
prehended, dispatched  the  officer  with  the  letter  to  the  military 
in  the  Canongate,  who  immediately  begun  their  ma:rch,  and  by 
the  time  the  Solicitor  had  half  examined  the  said  two  persons 
in  the  Burrow-room,  where  the  magistrates  were  present,  a 
party  of  fifty  men,  drums  beating,  marched  into  Parliament 
close,  and  drew  up,  which  was  the  first  thing  that  struck  a  ter- 
ror, and  from  that  time  forward,  the  insolence  was  succeeded 
by  fear. 

"Stirling  and  Braidwood  were  immediately  sent  to  the  Castle, 
and  imprisoned.  That  same  night,  Stoddart  the  smith  was 
seized,  and  he  was  committed  to  the  Castle  also;  as  was 
likewise  Traill  the  journeyman  wright,  who  were  all  severally 
examined,  and  denyed  the  least  accession. 

"In  the  meantime,  the  enquirj'  was  going  on,  and  it  haveing 
cast  up  in  one  of  the  declarations,  that  a  hump'd-backed  crea- 
ture marched  with  a  gun  as  one  of  the  guards  to  Porteous 
when  he  went  up  the  Lawn  Markett,  tlie  person  who  emitted 
this  declaration,  was  employed  to  walk  the  streets  to  see  if  he 
could  find  him  out;  at  last  he  came  to  the  Solicitor  and  told 
him  he  had  found  him,  and  that  he  was  in  a  certain  house. 


92  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

Whereupon  a  warrand  was  issued  out  against  him,  and  he 
was  apprehended  and  sent  to  the  Castle,  and  he  proved  to  be 
one  Birnie.  a  helper  to  the  Countess  of  Weemys's  coachman. 

"Thereafter,  ane  information  was  given  in  against  William 
M'Lauchlan.  ffootman  to  the  said  Countess,  he  haveing  been 
very  active  in  the  mob:  ffor  sometime  he  kept  himself  but  of 
the  way.  but  at  last  he  was  apprehended  and  likewise  com- 
mitted to  the  Castle. 

"And  these  were  all  the  prisoners  who  were  putt  under 
confinement  in  that  place. 

"There  were  other  persons  imprisoned  in  the  Tolbooth  of 
Edinburgh,  and  severalls  against  whom  warrands  were  issued, 
but  could  not  be  apprehended,  whose  names  and  cases  shall 
afterwards  be  more  particularly  taken  notice  of. 

"The  iTriends  of  Stirling  made  an  application  to  the  Earl  of 
Islay,  Lord  Justice-Generall,  setting  furth,  that  he  was  seized 
with  a  bloody  fflux:  that  his  life  was  in  danger:  and  that 
upon  ane  examination  of  witnesses  whose  names  were  given  in, 
it  would  appear  to  conviction,  that  he  had  not  the  least  access 
to  any  of  the  riotous  proceedings  of  that  wicked  mob. 

"This  petition  was  by  his  Lordship  putt  into  the  hands  of 
his  Majesties  Solicitor,  who  examined  the  witnesses:  and  by 
their  testimonies  it  appeared,  that  the  young  man,  who  was 
not  above  eighteen  years  of  age,  was  that  night  in  company 
with  about  half  a  dozen  companions,  in  a  public  house  in 
Stephen  Law's  closs,  near  the  back  of  the  Guard,  where  they 
all  remained  until  the  noise  came  to  the  house,  that  the  mob 
had  shut  the  gates  and  seized  the  Guard,  upon  which  the  com- 
pany broke  .up,  and  he,  and  one  of  his  companions,  went  towards 
his  master's  house:  and,  in  the  course  of  the  after  examination, 
there  was  a  witness  who  declared,  nay,  indeed  swore  (for  the 
Solicitor,  by  this  time,  saw  it  necessary  to  put  those  he  exam- 
ined upon  oath)  that  he  met  him  [Stirling]  after  he  entered 
into  the  alley  where  his  master  lives,  going  towards  his  house; 
and  another  witness,  fellow-prentice  with  Stirling,  declares, 
that  after  the  mob  had  seized  the  Guard,  he  went  home,  where 
he  found  Stirling  before  him;  and  that  his  master  lockt  the 
door,  and  kept  them  both  at  home  till  after  twelve  {  :•  night: 
upon  weighing  of  which  testimonies,  and  upon  consideration 
had,  That  he  was  charged  by  the  declaration  only  of  one  per- 
son, who  really  did  not  appear  to  be  a  witness  of  the  greatest 
weight,  and  that  his  life  was  in  danger  from  the  imprisonment, 
he  was  admitted  to  baill  by  the  Lord  Justice-Generall,  by 
whose  warrand  he  was  committed. 

"Braidwood's  friends  apphj'ed  in  the  same  manner:  but  as  he 
stood  charged  by  more  than  one  witness,  he  was  not  released 
— tho',  indeed,  the  witnesses  adduced  for  him  say  somewhat  in 


THE    HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  93 

his  exculpation — tliat  he  does  not  seem  to  have  been  upon 
any  oripinal  concert:  and  one  of  the  witnesses  says  he  was 
along  with  him  at  the  Tolbooth  door,  and  refuses  what  is 
said  against  him,  with  regard  to  his  having  advised  the  burn- 
ing of  tlie  Tolbooth  door.     But  he  remains  still  in  prison. 

"As  to  Traill,  the  journeyman  wri.crht.  he  is  charged  by  the 
same  witness  who  declared  against  Stirling,  and  there  is  none 
concurrs  with  him:  and  to  say  the  truth  concerning  him,  he 
seemed  to  be  the  most  ingenuous  of  any  of  them  whom  the 
vSolicitor  examined,  and  pointed  out  'a  witness  by  whom  one 
of  the  first  accomplices  was  discovered,  and  who  escaped  when 
the  warrand  was  to  be  putt  in  execution  against  them.  He 
positively  denys  his  having  shutt  the  gate,  and  'tis  thought 
Traill  ought  to  be  admitted  to  baill. 

"As  to  Birnie.  he  is  charged  only  by  one  witness,  who  had 
never  seen  him  before,  nor  knew  his  name;  so,  tho'  I  dare  say, 
the  witness  honestly  mentioned  him,  'tis  possible  he  may  be 
mistaken:  and  in  the  examination  of  above  200  witnesses, 
there  is  no  body  concurrs  with  him,  and  he  is  ane  insignificant 
little  creature. 

"With  regard  to  M'Lauchlan,  the  proof  is  strong  against 
him  by  one  witness,  that  he  acted  as  a  serjeant  or  sort  of 
commander,  for  some  time,  of  a  Guard,  that  stood  cross  be- 
tween the  upper  end  of  the  Luckenbooths  and  the  north  side 
of  the  street,  to  stop  all  but  friends  from  going  towards  the 
Tolbooth;  and  by  other  witnesses,  that  he  was  at  the  Tolbooth 
door  with  a  link  in  his  hand,  while  the  operation  of  beating 
and  burning  it  was  going  on:  that  he  went  along  with  the 
mob  with  a  halbert  in  his  hand,  until  he  came  to  the  gallows 
stone  in  the  Grassmarket,  and  that  he  stuck  the  halbert  into 
the  hole  of  the  gallows  stone:  that  afterwards  he  went  in 
amongst  the  mob  when  Captain  Porteous  was  carried  to  the 
dyer's  tree:  so  that  the  proof  seems  very  heavy  against  him. 
."To  sum  up  this  matter  with  regard  to  the  prisoners  in  the 
Castle,  'tis  believed  there  is  strong  proof  against  ^M'Lauchlan; 
there  is  also  proof  ajijainst  Braidwood.  But  as  it  consists  only 
in  emission  of  words  said  to  have  been  had  by  him  while  at 
the  Tolbooth  door,  and  that  he  is  ane  insignificant  pitiful! 
creature,  and  will  find  people  to  swear  heartily  in  his  favours, 
'tis  at  best  doubtfull  whether  a  jury  will  be  got  to  condemn 
him. 

"As  to  those  in  the  Tolbooth  of  Edinburgh,  John  Crawford, 
who  had  for  some  time  been  employed  to  ring  the  bells  in  the 
steeple  of  the  new  Church  of  Edinburgh,  being  in  company  with 
a  soldier  accidentally,  the  discourse  falling  in  concerning  Cap- 
tain Porteous  and  his  murder,  as  he  appears  to  l)e  a  light- 
headed  fellow,  he  said,  that  he  knew  people  that  were  more 


94  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

guilty  than  any  that  were  putt  in  prison.  Upon  this  informa- 
tion, Crawford  was  seized,  and  being  examined,  it  appeared 
that  when  the.  mob  begun,  as  he  was  comeing  down  from  the 
steeple,  the  mob  took  the  keys  from  him;  that  he  was  that 
night  in  several  corners,  and  did  indeed  delate  severall  per- 
sons whom  he  saw  there,  and  immediately  warrands  were  dis- 
patched, and  it  was  found  they  had  absconded  and  fled.  But 
there  was  no  evidence  against  him  of  any  kind.  Nay,  on  the 
contrary,  it  appeared,  that  he  had  been  with  the  Magistrates 
in  Clerk's  the  vintner's,  relating  to  them  what  he  had  seen  in 
the  streets.  Therefore,  after  haveing  detained  him  in  prison 
ffor  a  very  considerable  time,  his  Majesties  Advocate  and 
Solicitor  signed  a  warrand  for  his  liberation. 

"There  was  also  one  James  Wilson  incarcerated  in  the  said 
Tolbooth,  upon  the  declaration  of  one  witness,  who  said  he 
saw  him  on  the  streets  with  a  gun;  and  there  he  remained 
for  some  time,  in  order  to  try  if  a  concurring  witness  could 
be  found,  or  that  he  acted  any  part  in  the  tragedy  and  wick- 
edness. But  nothing  further  appeared  against  him;  and  being 
seized  with  a  severe  sickness,  he  is,  by  a  warrand  signed  by  his 
Majesties  Advocate  and  Solicitor,  liberated  upon  giveing  suffi- 
cient baill. 

"As  to  King,  enquiry  was  made,  and  the  ffact  comes  out  be- 
yond all  exception,  that  he  was  in  the  lodge  at  the  Nether- 
Bow  with  Lindsay  the  waiter,  and  several  other  people,  not  at 
all  concerned  in  the  mob.  But  after  the  affair  was  over,  he 
went  up  towards  the  guard,  and  having  met  with  Sandie  the 
Turk  and  his  wife,  who  esca^ied  out  of  prison,  they  returned 
to  his  house  at  the  Abbey,  and  then,  'tis  very  possible  he  may 
have  thought  fitt  in  his  beer  to  boast  of  villany,  in  which  he 
could  not  possibly  have  any  share;  for  that  reason  he  was 
desired  to  find  baill  and  he  should  be  set  at  liberty.  But  he 
is  a  stranger  and  a  fellow  of  very  indifferent  character,  and 
'tis  believed  it  won't  be  easy  for  him  to  find  baill.  Wherefore, 
it's  thought  he  must  be  sett  at  liberty  without  it.  Because  he 
is  a  burden  upon  the  Government  while  kept  in  confinement, 
not  being  able  to  maintain  himself. 

"What  is  above  is  all  that  relates  to  persons  in  custody. 
But  there  are  warrands  out  against  a  great  many  other  per- 
sons who  had  fled,  particularly  against  one  William  White,  a 
journeyman  baxter,  who,  by  the  evidence,  appears  to  have  been 
at  the  beginning  of  the  mob,  and  to  have  gone  along  with  the 
drum,  from  the  West-Port  to  the  Nether-Bow,  and  is  said  to 
have  been  one  of  those  who  attacked  the  guard,  and  probably 
was  as, deep  as  any  one  there. 

"Information  was  given  that  he  was  lurking  at  Falkirk, 
where  he  was  born.     Whereupon  directions  were  sent  to  the 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  95 

Sheriff  of  tlio  County,  and  a  warrand  from  his  Excellency 
CJenerall  Wadi-,  to  the  coinniandini:  olhcers  at  Stirling  and 
Linlith<:()\v,  to  assist,  and  all  possible  endeavours  were  used  to 
catch  hold  of  him,  and  'tis  said  ho  escaped  very  narrowly, 
having  been  concealed  in  some  outhouse;  and  the  misfortune 
was,  that  those  who  were  employed  in  the  search  did  not  know 
him  personally.  Nor,  indeed,  was  it  easy  to  trust  any  of  the 
acquaintanc-es  of  so  low  obscure  a  fellow  with  the  secret  of 
the  warrand  to  be  putt  in  execution. 

"There  was  also  strong  evidence  found  against  Robert  Taylor, 
servant  to  William  and  Charles  Thomsons,  periwig-makers,  that 
he  acted  as  ane  oiViccr  among  the  mob,  and  he  was  traced  from 
the  guard  to  the  well  at  the  head  of  Forrester's  Wynd,  where 
he  stood  and  had  the  appellation  of  Captain  from  the  mob, 
and  from  that  walking  down  the  Bow  before  Captain  Porteous, 
with  his  Lochaber-axe;  and  by  the  description  given  of  one 
who  hawl'd  the  rope  by  which  Captain  Porteous  was  pulled  up, 
'tis  believed  Taylor  was  the  person;  and  'tis  further  probable, 
that  the  witness  who  delated  Stirling  had  mistaken  Taylor 
for  him,  their  stature  and  age  (so  far  as  can  be  gathered  from 
the  description)   being  much  the  same. 

"A  great  deal  of  pains  were  taken,  and  no  charge  was  saved, 
in  order  to  have  catched  hold  of  this  Taylor,  and  warrands 
were  sent  to  the  country  where  he  was  born;  but  it  appears 
he  had  shipt  himself  off  for  Holland,  where  it  is  said  he 
now  is. 

"There  is  strong  evidence  also  against  Thomas  Burns,  butcher, 
that  he  was  ane  active  person  from  the  beginning  of  the 
mob  to  the  end  of  it.  He  lurkt  for  some  time  amongst  those 
of  his  trade;  and  artfully  enough  a  train  was  laid  to  catch 
him,  under  pretence  of  a  message  that  had  come  from  his 
father  in  Ireland,  so  that  he  came  to  a  blind  alehouse  in  the 
Flesh-market  closs,  and  a  party  being  ready,  was  by  Webster 
the  soldier,  who  was  upon  this  exploit,  advertised  to  come 
down.  However,  Burns  escaped  out  at  a  back  window,  and 
hid  himself  in  some  of  the  houses  which  are  heaped  together 
upon  one  another  in  that  place,  so  that  it  was  not  possible  to 
catcli  him.  'Tis  now  said  he  is  gone  to  Ireland  to  his  father, 
who  lives  there. 

"There  is  evidence  also  against  one  Robert  Anderson,  jour- 
neyman and  servant  to  Colin  Alison,  wright;  and  against 
Thomas  Linnen  and  James  Maxwell,  both  servants  also  to  the 
said  Colin  Alison,  who  ail  seem  to  have  been  deeply  concerned 
in  the  matter.  Anderson  is  ono  of  thos<^  who  ])utt  the  rope 
upon  Captiiin  Porteous's  neck.  Linnen  seems  also  to  hace  been 
very  active;  and  Maxwell  (which  is  pretty  remarkable)  is 
proven  to  have  come  to  a  shop  upon  the   Friday  before,  and 


96  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

charged  the  journeymen  and  prentices  there  to  attend  in  the 
Parliament  close  on  Tuesday  night,  to  assist  to  hang  Captain 
Porteous.  These  three  did  early  abscond,  and  though  warrands 
had  been  issued  out  against  them,  and  all  endeavours  used  to 
apprehend  them,  could  not  be  found. 

"One  \Valdie,  a  servant  to  George  Campbell,  wright,  has  also 
absconded,  and  many  others,  and  'tis  informed  that  numbers 
of  them  have  shipt  themselves  off  ffor  the  Plantations :  and 
upon  an  information  that  a  ship  was  going  off  ffrom  Glasgow, 
in  which  severall  of  the  rogues  were  to  transport  themselves 
beyond  seas,  proper  warrands  were  obtained,  and  persons  dis- 
patched to  search  the  said  ship,  and  seize  any  that  can  be 
found. 

"The  like  warrands  had  been  issued  with  regard  to  ships 
from  Leith.  But  whether  they  had  been  scard,  or  whether  the 
information  had  been  groundless,  they  had  no  effect. 

"This  is  a  summary  of  the  enquiry,  ffrom  which  it  appears 
there  is  no  prooff  on  which  one  can  rely,  but  against  M'Lauch- 
lan.  There  is  a  prooff  also  against  Braidwood,  but  more  ex- 
ceptionable. His  Majesties  Advocate,  since  he  came  to  town, 
has  join'd  with  the  Solicitor,  and  has  done  his  utmost  to 
gett  at  the  bottom  of  this  matter,  but  hitherto  it  stands,  as  is 
above  represented.  They  are  resolved  to  have  their  eyes  and 
their  ears  open,  and  to  do  what  they  can.  But  they  labour'd  ex- 
ceedingly against  the  stream;  and  it  may  truly  be  said,  that 
nothing  was  wanting  on  their  part.  Xor  have  they  declined 
any  labour  to  answer  the  commands  laid  upon  them  to  search 
the  matter  to  the  bottom." 

The  Porteous  Mob 

In  the  preceding  chapters,  the  circumstances  of  that  extraor- 
dinary riot  and  conspiracy,  called  the  Porteous  Mob.  are  given 
with  as  much  accuracy  as  the  author  was  able  to  collect  them. 
The  order,  regularity,  and  determined  resolution  with  which 
such  a  violent  action  was  devised  and  executed,  were  only 
equalled  by  the  secrecy  which  was  observed  concerning  the 
principal  actors. 

Although  the  fact  was  performed  by  torchlight,  and  in  pres- 
ence of  a  great  multitude,  to  some  of  whom,  at  least,  the 
individual  actors  must  have  been  known,  yet  no  discovery  was 
ever  made  concerning  any  of  the  perpetrators  of  the  slaughter. 

Two  men  only  were  brought  to  trial  for  an  offence  which 
the  government  were  so  anxious  to  detect  and  punish.  William 
M'Lauchlan,  footman  to  the  Countess  of  Wemyss,  who  is  men- 
tioned in  the  report  of  the  Solicitor-General  (page  275),  against 
whom  strong  evidence  had  been  obtained,  was  brought  to  trial 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  97 

in  ^[arcli,  1737,  charged  as  having  been  accessory  to  the  riot, 
armed  with  a  Locliaber-axe.  But  this  man  (who  was  at  all 
times  a  silly  creature)  proved  that  he  was  in  a  state  of  mortal 
intoxication  during  the  time  he  was  present  with  the  rabble, 
incapable  of  giving  them  either  advice  or  assistance,  or,  in- 
deed, of  knowing  what  he  or  they  were  doing.  He  was  also 
able  to  prove  that  he  was  forced  into  the  riot,  and  upheld 
while  there  by  two  bakers,  who  put  a  Lochaber-axe  into  his 
hand.  The  jury,  wisely  judging  this  poor  creature  could  be 
no  proper  subject  of  punishment,  found  the  panel  not  guilty. 
The  same  verdict  was  given  in  the  case  of  Thomas  Linning, 
also  mentioned  in  th^  Solicitor's  memorial,  who  was  tried  in 
1738.  In  short,  neither  then,  nor  for  a  long  period  afterwards, 
was  anything  discovered  relating  to  the  organization  of  the 
Porteous  Plot, 

The  imagination  of  the  people  of  Edinburgh  was  long  irri- 
tated, and  their  curiosity  kept  awake,  by  the  mystery  attending 
this  extraordinary  conspiracy.  It  was  generally  reported  of 
such  natives  of  Edinburgh  as,  having  left  the  city  in  youth, 
returned  witli  a  fortune  amassed  in  foreign  countries,  that  they 
had  originally  fled  on  account  of  their  share  in  the  Porteous 
Mob.  I3ut  little  credit  can  be  attached  to  these  surmises,  as 
in  most  of  the  cases  they  are  contradicted  by  dates,  and  in 
none  supported  by  anything  but  vague  rumors,  grounded  on 
the  ordinary  wish  of  the  vulgar,  to  impute  the  success  of  pros- 
perous men  to  some  unpleasant  source.  The  secret  history  of 
the  Porteous  !Mob  has  been  till  this  day  unravelled:  and  it 
has  always  been  quoted  as  a  close,  daring,  and  calculated  act 
of  violence,  of  a  nature  peculiarly  characteristic  of  the  Scottish 
people. 

^Nevertheless,  the  author,  for  a  considerable  time,  nourished 
hopes  to  have  found  himself  enabled  to  throw  some  light  on 
this  mysterious  story.  An  old  man,  who  died  about  twenty 
years  ago,  at  the  advanced  age  of  ninety-three,  was  said  to 
have  made  a  communication  to  the  clergyman  who  attended 
upon  his  deathbed,  respecting  the  origin  of  the  Porteous  ^Mob. 
This  person  followed  the  trade  of  a  carpenter,  and  had  been 
employed  as  such  on  the  estate  of  a  family  of  opulence  and 
condition.  His  character,  in  his  line  of  life  and  amongst  his 
neighbors,  was  excellent,  and  never  underwent  the  slightest 
suspicion.  His  confession  was  said  to  have  been  to  the  follow- 
ing pur])ose:  That  he  was  one  of  twelve  young  men  belonging 
to  the  village  of  Pathhead,  whose  animosity  against  Porteous. 
on  account  of  the  execution  of  Wilson,  was  so  extrenu\  that 
they  "resolved  to  execute  vengeance  on  him  with  tlicir  own 
hands,  rather  than  he  should  escape  punishment.  With  tliis 
resolution   they    crossed    the   Forth    at    different   ferries,    and 


98  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

rendezvoused  at  the  suburb  called  Portsburgh,  where  their 
appearance  in  a  body  soon  called  numbers  around  them.  The 
public  mind  was  in  such  a  state  of  irritation,  that  it  only 
wanted  a  single  spark  to  create  an  explosion;  and  this  was 
afforded  by  the  exertions  of  the  small  and  determined  band 
of  associates.  The  appearance  of  premeditation  and  order 
which  distinguished  the  riot,  according  to  his  account,  had  its 
origin,  not  in  any  previous  plan  or  conspiracy,  but  in  the 
character  of  those  who  were  engaged  in  it.  The  story  also 
serves  to  show  why  nothing  of  the  origin  of  the  riot  has  ever 
been  discovered,  since,  though  in  itself  a  great  conflagration, 
its  source,  according  to  this  account,  was  from  an  obscure  and 
apparently  inadequate  cause. 

I  have  been  disappointed,  however,  in  obtaining  the  evidence 
on  which  this  story  rests.  The  present  proprietor  of  the 
estate  on  which  the  old  man  died  (a  particular  friend  of  the 
author)  undertook  to  question  the  son  of  the  deceased  on  the 
subject.  This  person  follows  his  father's  trade,  and  holds  the 
emplojmient  of  carpenter  to  the  same  family.  He  admits  that 
his  father's  going  abroad  at  the  time  of  the  Porteous  Mob 
was  popularly  attributed  to  his  having  been  concerned  in  that 
affair ;  but  adds  that,  so  far  as  is  kno\^Ti  to  him,  the  old  man 
had  never  made  any  confession  to  that  effect;  and,  on  the 
contrary,  had  uniformly  denied  being  present.  My  kind  friend, 
therefore,  had  recourse  to  a  person  from  whom  he  had  for- 
merly heard  the  story;  but  who,  either  from  respect  to  an 
old  friend's  memory,  or  from  failure  of  his  own,  happened  to 
have  forgotten  that  ever  such  a  communication  was  made.  So 
my  obliging  correspondent  (who  is  a  fox-hunter)  wrote  to  me 
that  he  was  completely  planted;  and  all  that  can  be  said  with 
respect  to  the  tradition  is,  that  it  certainly  once  existed,  and 
was  generally  believed. 

CHAPTEE   VIII 

Arthur's   Seat  shall  be  my  bed, 

The  sheets  shall   ne'er  be  pressed  by  me; 

St.  Anton's  well  shall  be  my  drink, 
Sin'  my  true-love's   forsaken  me. 

Old   Song. 

If  I  were  to  choose  a  spot  from  which  the  rising  or  setting 
sun  could  be  seen  to  the  greatest  possible  advantage,  it 
would  be  that  wild  path  winding  around  the  foot  of  the 
high  belt  of  semicircular  rocks,  called  Salisbury  Crags, 
and  marking  the  verge  of  the  steep  descent  with  slopes 
down  into  the  glen  on  the  southeastern  side  of  the  city 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  99 

of  Edinburgh.  The  prospect,  in  its  general  outline,  com- 
mands a  close-built,  high-piled  city,  stretching  itself  out 
beneath  in  a  form,  which,  to  a  romantic  imagination,  may 
be  supposed  to  represent  that  of  a  dragon;  now,  a  noble 
arm  of  the  sea,  with  its  rocks,  isles,  distant  shores,  and 
boundary  of  mountains;  and  now,  a  fair  and  fertile 
champaign  country,  varied  with  hill,  dale,  and  rock,  and 
skirted  by  the  picturesque  ridge  of  the  Pentland  moun- 
tains. But  as  the  path  gently  circles  around  the  base 
of  the  clitfs,  the  prospect,  composed  as  it  is  of  these 
enchanting  and  sublime  objects,  changes  at  every  step, 
and  presents  them  blended  with,  or  divided  from,  each 
other,  in  every  possible  variety  which  can  gratify  the  eye 
and  the  imagination.  When  a  piece  of  scenery  so  beauti- 
ful, yet  so  varied, — so  exciting  by  its  intricacy,  and  yet 
so  sublime, — is  lighted  up  by  the  tints  of  morning  or  of 
evening,  and  displays  all  that  variety  of  shadowy  depth, 
exchanged  with  partial  brilliancy,  which  gives  character 
even  to  the  tamest  of  landscapes,  the  effect  approaches 
near  to  enchantment.  This  path  used  to  be  my  favorite 
evening  and  morning  resort,  when  engaged  with  a  favor- 
ite author,  or  new  subject  of  study.  It  is,  I  am  informed, 
now  become  totally  impassable;  a  circumstance  which, 
if  true,  reflects  little  credit  on  the  taste  of  the  Good 
Town  or  its  leaders.* 

It  was  from  this  fascinating  pi,th — the  scene  to  me  of  so 
much  delicious  musing,  when  life  was  young  and  promised 
to  be  happy,  that  I  have  been  unable  to  pass  it  over  without 
an  episcopal  description — it  was,  I  say,  from  this  romantic 
path  that  Butler  saw  the  morning  arise  the  day  after  the 
murder  of  Porteous.  It  was  possible  for  him  with  ease 
to  have  found  a  much  shorter  road  to  the  house  to  which 
he  was  directing  his  course,  and,  in  fact,  that  which  he 
chose  was  extremely  circuitous.  But  to  compose  his  own 
spirits,  as  well  as  to  while  away  the  time,  until  a  proper 
hour  for  visiting  the  family  without  surprise  or  disturb- 
ance, he  was  induced  to  extend  his  circuit  by  the  foot  of 
the  rocks,  and  to  linger  upon  his  way  until  the  morning 
should  be  considerably  advanced.     While,  now  standing 

*  A  beautiful  and  solid  pathway  has,  within  a  few  years,  been  formed 
around,  these  romantic  rocks;  and  the  author  has  the  pleasure  to  think 
that  the  passage  in  the  text  gave  rise  to  the  undertaking. 


100  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  ; 

with  his  arms  across,  and  waiting  the  slow  progress  of  the  \ 
sun  above  the  horizon,  now  sitting  upon  one  of  the  numer-  ■ 
ous  fragments  which  storms  had  detached  from  the  j 
rocks  above  him,  he  is  meditating,  alternately  upon  the  j 
horrible  catastrophe  which  he  had  witnessed,  and  npon  j 
the  melancholy,  and  to  him  most  interesting,  news  which  ] 
he  had  learned  at  Saddletree's,  we  will  give  the  reader  to  j 
■understand  who  Butler  was,  and  how  his  fate  was  con-  j 
nected  with  that  of  Effie  Deans,  the  unfortunate  hand-  \ 
maiden  of  the  careful  Mrs.  Saddletree.  ; 

Reuben  Butler  was  of  English  extraction,  though  born  j 
in  Scotland.  His  grandfather  was  a  trooper  in  Monk's  ] 
army,  and  one  of  the  party  of  dismounted  dragoons  which  , 
formed  the  forlorn  hope  at  the  storming  of  Dundee  in  i 
1651.  Stephen  Butler  (called,  from  his  talents  in  reading  | 
and  expounding,  Scripture  Stephen,  and  Bible  Butler)  j 
was  a  stanch  Independent,  and  received  in  its  fullest  ! 
comprehension  the  promise  that  the  saints  should  inherit  [ 
the  earth.  As  hard  knocks  were  what  had  chiefly  fallen  j 
to  his  share  hitherto  in  the  division  of  this  common  ; 
property,  he  lost  not  the  opportunity  which  the  storm  and  . 
plunder  of  a  commercial  place  afl'orded  him,  to  appropri-  : 
ate  as  large  a  share  of  the  better  things  of  this  world  as  i 
he  could  possibly  compass.  It  would  seem  that  he  had  \ 
succeeded  indifl'erently  well,  for  his  exterior  circum-  ' 
stances  appeared,  in  consequence  of  this  event,  to  have  ! 
been  much  mended.  ; 

The  troop  to  which  he  belonged  was  quartered  at  the 
village  of  Dalkeith,  as  forming  the  bodyguard  of  Monk,  i 
who,  in  the  capacity  of  general  for  the  Commonwealth,  ; 
resided  in  the  neighboring  castle.  When,  on  the  eve  of  ^ 
the  Restoration,  the  general  commenced  his  march  from  ; 
Scotland,  a  measure  pregnant  with  such  important  conse-  | 
quences,  he  new-modelled  his  troops,  and  more  especially  ; 
those  immediately  about  his  person,  in  order  that  they  ! 
might  consist  entirely  of  individuals  devoted  to  himselfi  | 
On  this  occasion  Scripture  Stephen  was  weighed  in  the  | 
balance  and  found  wanting.  It  was  supposed  he  felt  no  I 
call  to  any  expedition  which  might  endanger  the  reign  of  ; 
the  military  sainthood,  and  that  he  did  not  consider  himself  i 
as  free  in  conscience  to  join  with  any  party  which  might 
be    likely    ultimately    to    acknowledge    the    interest    of  : 


Till:   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  101 

Charles  Stewart,  the  son  of  "the  last  man,"  as  Charles  I. 
was  familiarly  and  irreverently  termed  by  them  in  their 
eommon  disconrse,  as  well  as  in  their  more  elaborate 
predications  and  harangues.  As  the  time  did  not  admit 
of  cashiering^  such  dissidents,  Stephen  Butler  was  .only 
advised  in  a  friendly  way  to  pive  up  his  horse  and  ac- 
coutrements to  one  of  ^liddleton's  old  troopers,  who 
possessed  an  accommodating  conscience  of  a  military 
stamp,  and  which  squared  itself  chiefly  upon  those  of  the 
Colonel  and  paymaster.  As  this  hint  came  recommended 
by  a  certain  sum  of  arrears  presently  payable,  Stephen 
had  carnal  wisdom  enough  to  embrace  the  proposal,  and 
with  great  indifference  saw  his  old  corps  depart  for  Cold- 
stream on  their  route  for  the  south,  to  establish  the 
tottering  government  of  England  on  a  new  basis. 

The  zone  of  the  ex-trooper,  to  use  Horace's  phrase,  was 
weighty  enough  to  purchase  a  cottage  and  two  or  three 
fields  (still  known  by  the  name  of  Beersheba),  within 
about  a  Scottish  mile  of  Dalkeith;  and  there  did  Stephen 
establish  himself  with  a  youthful  helpmate,  chosen  out  of 
the  said  village,  whose  disposition  to  a  comfortable  settle- 
ment on  this  side  of  the  grave  reconciled  her  to  the  gruif 
manners,  serious  temper,  and  weather-beaten  features  of 
the  martial  enthusiast.  Stephen  did  not  long  survive  the 
falling  on  "evil  days  and  evil  tongues,"  of  which  Milton, 
in  the  same  predicament,  so  mournfully  complains.  At 
his  death  his  consort  remained  an  early  widow,  with  a 
male  child  of  three  years  old,  which,  in  the  sobriety  where- 
ovith  it  demeaned  itself,  in  the  old-fashioned  and  even 
grim  cast  of  its  features,  and  in  its  sententious  mode  of 
expressing  itself,  would  sufficiently  have  vindicated  the 
honor  of  the  widow  of  Beersheba,  had  any  one  thought 
proper  to  challenge  the  babe's  descent  from  Bible  Butler. 

Butler's  principles  had  not  descended  to  his  family,  or 
extended  themselves  among  his  neighbors.  The  air  of 
Scotland  was  alien  to  the  growth  of  independency,  how- 
ever favorable  to  fanaticism  under  other  colors.  But, 
nevertheless,  they  were  not  forgotten;  and  a  certain 
neighboring  Laird,  who  piqued  himself  upon  the  loyalty 
of  his  principles  "in  the  worst  of  times"  (though  I  never 
heard  they  exposed  him  to  more  peril  than  that  of  a 
broken  head,  or  a  night's  lodging  in  the  main  guard,  when 


102  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

wine  and  cavalierism  predominated  in  his  upper  story), 
liad  found  it  a  convenient  thing  to  rake  up  all  matter 
of  accusation  against  the  deceased  Stephen.  In  this 
enumeration  his  religious  principles  made  no  small  figure, 
as,  indeed,  they  must  have  seemed  of  the  most  exaggerated 
enormity  to  one  whose  own  were  so  small  and  so  faintly 
traced,  as  to  be  well-nigh  imperceptible.  In  these  circum- 
stances, poor  widow  Butler  was  supplied  with  her  full 
proportion  of  fines  for  non-conformity,  and  all  the  other 
oppressions  of  the  time,  until  Beersheba  was  fairly 
wrenched  out  of  her  hands,  and  became  the  property  of 
the  Laird  who  had  so  wantonly,  as  it  had  hitherto  ap- 
peared, persecuted  this  poor,  forlorn  woman.  When  his 
purpose  was  fairly  achieved,  he  showed  some  remorse,  or 
moderation,  or  whatever  the  reader  may  please  to  term  it, 
in  permitting  her  to  occupy  her  husband's  cottage,  and 
cultivate,  on  no  very  heavy  terms,  a  croft  of  land  adjacent. 
Her  son  Benjamin,  in  the  meanwhile,  grew  up  to  man's 
estate,  and,  moved  by  that  impulse  which  makes  men  seek 
marriage,  even  when  its  end  can  only  be  the  perpetuation 
of  misery,  he  wedded  and  brought  a  wife,  and  eventually 
a  son,  Reuben,  to  share  the  poverty  of  Beersheba. 

The  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes*  had  hitherto  been  moderate 
in  his  exactions,  perhaps  because  he  was  ashamed  to  tax 
too  highly  the  miserable  means  of  support  wKich  remained 
to  the  widow  Butler.  But  when  a  stout  active  young 
fellow  appeared  as  the  laborer  of  the  croft  in  question, 
Dumbiedikes  began  to  think  so  broad  a  pair  of  shoulders 
might  bear  an  additional  burden.  He  regulated,  indeed, 
his  management  of  his  dependants  (who  fortunately  were 
but  few  in  number)  much  upon  the  principle  of  the 
carters  whom  he  observed  loading  their  carts  at  a  neigh- 
boring coal-hill,  and  who  never  failed  to  clap  an  addi- 
tional brace  of  hundredweights  on  their  burden,  so  soon 
as  by  any  means  they  had  compassed  a  new  horse  of  some- 
what superior  strength  to  that  which  had  broken  down 
the  day  before.  However  reasonable  this  practice  appeared 
to  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes,  he  ought  to  have  observed, 

*  Dumbiedikes,  selected  as  descriptive  of  the  taciturn  character  of  the 
imaginary  owner,  is  really  the  name  of  a  house  bordering  on  the  King's 
Park,  so  called  because  the  late  Mr.  Braidwood,  an  instructor  of  the 
deaf  and  dumb,  resided  there  with  his  pupils.  The  situation  of  the 
real   house   is   different   from   that  assigned   to   the  iiJeal   mansion. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAX  103 

that  it  may  be  overdone,  and  that  it  infers,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  the  destruction  of  both  horse,  cart,  and  loading. 
Even  so  it  befell  when  the  additional  "prestations"  came 
to  be  demanded  of  Benjamin  Butler.  A  man  of  few 
words,  and  few  ideas,  but  attached  to  Beersheba  with  a 
feelings  like  that  which  a  vegetable  entertains  to  the  spot  ^ 
in  which  it  chances  to  be  planted,  he  neither  remonstrated 
with  the  Laird,  nor  endeavored  to  escape  from  him,  but 
toiling  night  and  day  to  accomplish  the  terms  of  his  task- 
master, fell  into  a  burning  fever  and  died.  His  wife  did 
not  long  survive  him;  and,  as  if  it  had  been  the  fate  of 
this  family  to  be  left  orphans,  our  Reuben  Butler  was, 
about  the  year  1704-5,  left  in  the  same  circumstances  in 
which  his  father  had  been  placed,  and  under  the  same 
guardianship,  being  that  of  his  grandmother,  the  widow 
of  Monk's  old  trooper. 

The  same  prospect  of  misery  hung  over  the  head  of 
another  tenant  of  this  hard-hearted  lord  of  the  soil.  This 
was  a  tough  true-blue  Presbyterian,  called  Deans,  who, 
though  most  obnoxious  to  the  Laird  on  account  of  prin- 
ciples in  Church  and  State,  contrived  to  maintain  his 
ground  upon  the  estate  by  regular  payment  of  mail-duties,  ^ 
kain,  arriage,  carriage,  dry  multure,  lock,  gowpen,  and 
knaveship,  and  all  the  various  exactions  now  commuted 
for  money,  and  summed  up  in  the  emphatic  word  rent. 
But  the  years  1700  and  1701,  long  remembered  in  Scot- 
land for  dearth  and  general  distress,  subdued  the  stout 
heart  of  the  agricultural  Whig.  Citations  by  the  ground 
officer,  decreets  of  the  Baron  Court,  sequestrations,  poind- 
ings of  outside  and  inside  plenishing,  flew  about  his  ears 
as  fast  as  ever  the  Tory  bullets  whistled  around  those  of 
the  Covenanters  at  Pentland,  Bothwell  Brigg,  or  Airsmoss. 
Struggle  as  he  might,  and  he  struggled  gallantly,  "Douce 
David  Deans"  was  routed  horse  and  foot,  and  lay  at  the 
mercy  of  his  grasping  landlord  just  at  the  time  that 
Benjamin  Butler  died.  The  fate  of  each  family  was 
anticipated ;  but  they  who  prophesied  their  expulsion  to 
beggary  and  ruin,  were  disappointed  by  an  accidental 
circumstance. 

On  the  very  term-day  when  their  ejection  should  have 
taken  place,  when  all  their  neighbors  were  prepared  to 
pity,   and  not   one   to   assist   them,   the   minister   of   the 


104  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

parish,  as  well  as  a  doctor  from  Edinburgh,  received  a 
hasty  summons  to  attend  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes.  Both 
were  surprised,  for  his  contempt  for  both  faculties  had 
been  pretty  commonly  his  theme  over  an  extra  bottle,  that 
is  to  say,  at  least  once  every  day.  The  leech  for  the  soul, 
and  he  for  the  body,  alighted  in  the  court  of  the  little 
old  manor-house  at  almost  the  same  time;  and  when  they 
had  gazed  a  moment  at  each  other  with  some  surprise, 
they  in  the  same  breath  expressed  their  conviction  that 
Dumbiedikes  must  needs  be  very  ill  indeed,  since  he  sum- 
moned them  both  to  his  presence  at  once.  Ere  the  servant 
could  usher  them  to  his  apartment  the  party  was  aug- 
mented by  a  man  of  law,  Nichil  Novit,  writing  himself 
procurator  before  the  sheriff -court,  for  in  those  days  there 
were  no  solicitors.  This  latter  personage  was  first  sum- 
moned to  the  apartment  of  the  Laird,  where,  after  some 
short  space,  the  soul-curer  and  the  body-curer  were  in- 
vited to  join  him. 

Dumbiedikes  had  been  by  this  time  transported  into 
the  best  bedroom,  used  only  upon  occasions  of  death  and 
marriage,  and  called,  from  the  former  of  these  occupa- 
tions, the  Dead-Room.  There  were  in  this  apartment,  be- 
sides the  sick  person  himself  and  Mr.  Novit,  the  son  and 
heir  of  the  patient,  a  tall,  gawky,  silly-looking  boy  of 
fourteen  or  fifteen,  and  a  house-keeper,  a  good  buxom 
figure  of  a  woman,  betwixt  forty  and  fifty,  who  had  kept 
the  keys  and  managed  matters  at  Dumbiedikes  since  the 
lady's  death.  It  was  to  these  attendants  that  Dumbie- 
dikes addressed  himself  pretty  nearly  in  the  following 
words ;  temporal  and  spiritual  matters,  the  care  of  his 
health  and  his  affairs,  being  strangely  jumbled  in  a  head 
which  was  never  one  of  the  clearest: — 

"These  are  sair  times  wi'  me,  gentlemen  and  neighbors! 
amaist  as  ill  as  the  aughty-nine,  when  I  was  rabbled  by 
the  collegeaners.* — They  mistook  me  muckle — they  ca'd 
me  a  papist,  but  there  was  never  a  papist  bit  about  me, 
minister. — Jock,  ye'll  take  warning — it's  a  debt  we  maun 
a'pay,  and  there  stands  Nichil  Novit  that  will  tell  ye  I 

*  Immediately  previous  to  the  Revolution,  the  students  at  the  Edin- 
burgh College  were  violent  anti-Catholics.  They  were  strongly  suspected 
of  burning  the  house  of  Priestfield,  belonging  to  the  Lord  Provost;  and 
certainly   were    guilty    of   creating   considerable    riots   in    1688-89. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  105 

was  never  gude  at  paying  debts  in  my  life. — Mr.  Novit, 
ye'll  not  forget  to  draw  the  annual  rent  that's  due  on  the 
yerl's  band — if  I  pay  debt  to  other  folk,  I  think  they  suld 
pay  it  to  me — that  equals  aquals. — Jock,  when  ye  hae 
naething  else  to  do,  ye  may  be  aye  sticking  in  a  tree;  it 
will  be  growing,  Jock,  when  ye're  sleeping  *  My  father 
tauld  me  sae  forty  years  sin',  but  I  ne'er  fand  time  to 
mind  him — Jock,  ne'er  drink  brandy  in  the  morning,  it 
files  the  stamach  sair;  gin  ye  take  a  morning's  draught, 
let  it  be  aqua  mirabilis;  Jenny  there  makes  it  week — 
Doctor,  my  breath  is  growing  as  scant  as  a  broken-winded 
pipers,  when  he  has  played  for  four-and-twenty  hours  at 
a  penny  wedding — Jenny,  pit  the  cod  aneath  my  head — 
but  it's  a'  needless ! — Mass  John,  could  ye  think  o'  rattling 
ower  some  bit  short  prayer,  it  wad  do  me  gude  maybe, 
and  keep  some  queer  thoughts  out  o'  my  head.  Say 
something,  man." 

'T  cannot  use  a  prayer  like  a  rat-rhyme,"  answered  the 
honest  clergyman;  "and  if  you  would  have  your  soul  re- 
deemed like  a  prey  from  the  fowler,  Laird,  you  must 
needs  show  me  your  state  of  mind." 

*'And  shouldna  ye  ken  that  without  my  telling  you?" 
answered  the  patient.  "What  have  I  been  paying  stipend 
and  teind  parsonage  and  vicarage  for,  ever  sin'  the  aughty- 
nine,  and  I  canna  get  a  spell  of  a  prayer  for't,  the  only 
time  I  ever  asked  for  ane  in  my  life  ? — Gang  awa  wi'  your 
whiggery,  if  that's  a'  ye  can  do;  auld  Curate  Kilstoup  wad 
hae  read  half  the  Prayer-book  to  me  by  this  time — Awa 
wi'  ye! — Doctor,  let's  see  if  ye  can  do  onything  better 
for  me." 

The  Doctor,  who  had  obtained  some  information  in  the 
meanwhile  from  the  housekeeper  on  the  state  of  his  com- 
plaints, assured  him  the  medical  art  could  not  prolong  his 
life  many  hours. 

"Then  damn  Mass  John  and  you  baith!"  cried  the 
furious  and  intractable  patient.  "Did  ye  come  here  for 
naething  but  to  tell  me  that  ye  canna  help  me  at  the 
pinch?     Out   wi'   them.   Jenny — out   o'   the   house!   and, 

*  The  author  has  been  flattered  by  the  assurance  that  this  iiai-iC  mode 
of  recommending  arboriculture  (which  was  actually  delivered  in  these 
very  words  by  a  Highland  laird,  while  on  his  deathbed,  to  his  son)  had 
so  much  weight  with  a  Scottish  earl,  as  to  lead  to  his  planting  a  large 
tract  of  country. 


106  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

Jock,  my  curse,  and  the  curse  of  Cromwell,  go  wi'  ye,  if 
ye  gie  them  either  fee  or  bountith,  or  sae  muckle  as  a 
black  pair  o'  cheverons  !"* 

The  clergyman  and  doctor  made  a  speedy  retreat  out 
of  the  apartment,  while  Dumbiedikes  fell  into  one  of  those 
transports  of  violent  and  profane  language,  which  had 
procured   him   the   surname   of   Damn-me-dikes. — ''Bring 

me  the  brandy  bottle,  Jenny,  ye  b ,"  he  cried,  with  a 

voice  in  which  passion  contended  with  pain.  "I  can  die 
as  I  have  lived,  without  fashing  ony  o'  them.  But  there's 
ae  thing,"  he  said,  sinking  his  voice — "there's  ae  fearful 
thing  hings  about  my  heart,  and  an  anker  of  brandy 
winna  wash  it  away. — The  Deanses  at  Woodend! — I  se- 
questrated them  in  the  dear  years,  and  now  they  are  to 
flit,  they'll  starve — and  that  Beersheba,  and  that  auld 
trooper's  wife  and  her  oe,  they'll  starve — they'll  starve! — 
Look  out,  Jock;  what  kind  o'  night  is't ?" 

''On-ding  o'  snaw,  father,"  answered  Jock,  after  having 
opened  the  window,  and  looked  out  with  great  composure. 

"They'll  perish  in  the  drifts !"  said  the  expiring  sinner 
— "they'll  perish  wi'  cauld! — but  I'll  be  het  enough,  gin 
a'  tales  be  true." 

This  last  observation  was  made  under  breath,  and  in  a 
tone  which  made  the  very  attorney  shudder.  He  tried 
his  hand  at  ghostly  advice,  probably  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  and  recommended,  as  an  opiate  for  the  agonized 
conscience  of  the  Laird,  reparation  of  the  injuries  he  had 
done  to  these  distressed  families,  which,  he  observed  by 
the  way,  the  civil  law  called  restitutio  in  integrum.  But 
Mammon  was  struggling  with  Remorse  for  retaining  his 
place  in  a  bosom  he  had  so  long  possessed;  and  he  partly 
succeeded,  as  an  old  tyrant  proves  often  too  strong  for  his 
insurgent  rebels. 

"I  canna  do't,"  he  answered  with  a  voice  of  despair. 
"It  would  kill  me  to  do't — how  can  ye  bid  me  pay  back 
siller,  when  ye  ken  how  I  want  it?  or  dispone  Beersheba, 
when  it  lies  sae  weel  into  my  ain  plaid-nuik?  Xature 
made  Dumbiedikes  and  Beersheba  to  be  ae  man's  land — 
She  did,  by — Nichil,  it  wad  kill  me  to  part  them." 

"But  ye   maun   die  whether   or  no,   Laird,"   said   Mr. 

*  Che^'erons — gloves. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  107 

Novit;  "and  maybe  ye  wad  die  easier — it's  but  trying. 
I'll  scroll  the  disposition  in  nae  time." 

"Dinna  speak  o't,  sir,"  replied  Dumbiedikes,  "or  I'll 
fling  the  stoup  at  your  head. — But,  Jock,  lad,  ye  see  how 
the  warld  warstles  wi'  me  on  my  deathbed — be  kind  to 
the  puir  creatures  the  Deanses  and  the  Butlers — be  kind 
to  them,  Jock.  Dinna  let  the  warld  get  a  grip  o'  ye,  Jock 
— but  keep  the  gear  thegither !  and  whate'er  ye  do,  dispone 
Beersheba  at  no  rate.  Let  the  creatures  stay  at  a  moderate 
mailing,  and  hae  bite  and  soup;  it  will  maybe  be  the 
better  wi'  your  father  whare  he's  gaun,  lad." 

After  these  contradictory  instructions,  the  Laird  felt 
his  mind  so  much  at  ease,  that  he  drank  three  bumpers  of 
brandy  continuously,  and  "soughed  awa,"  as  Jenny  ex- 
pressed it,  in  an  attempt  to  sing  "Deil  stick  the  minister." 

His  death  made  a  revolution  in  favor  of  the  distressed 
families.  John  Dumbie,  now  of  Dumbiedikes  in  his  own 
right,  seemed  to  be  close  and  selfish  enough;  but  wanted 
the  grasping  spirit  and  active  mind  of  his  father;  and  his 
guardian  happened  to  agree  with  him  in  opinion,  that  his 
father's  dying  recommendation  should  be  attended  to. 
The  tenants,  therefore,  were  not  actually  turned  out  of 
doors  among  the  snow-wreaths,  and  were  allowed  where- 
with to  procure  butter-milk,  -and  peas-bannocks,  which 
they  eat  under  the  full  force  of  the  original  malediction. 
The  cottage  of  Deans,  called  Woodend,  was  not  very 
distant  from  that  at  Beersheba.  Formerly  there  had  been 
little  intercourse  between  the  families.  Deans  was  a  stur- 
dy Scotchman,  with  all  sorts  of  prejudices  against  the 
southern,  and  the  spa\vn  of  the  southern.  ]\roreover. 
Deans  was,  as  we  have  said,  a  stanch  Presbyterian,  of 
the  most  rigid  and  unbending  adherence  to  what  he  con- 
ceived to  be  the  only  possible  straight  line,  as  he  was  wont 
to  express  himself,  between  right-hand  heats  and  extremes, 
and  left-hand  defections;  and,  therefore,  he  held  in  high 
dread  and  horror  all  Independents,  and  whomsoever  he 
supposed  allied  to  them. 

But,  notwithstanding  these  national  prejudices  and  re- 
ligious professions.  Deans  and  the  widow  Butler  were 
placed  in  such  a  situation,  as  naturally  and  at  length 
created  some  intimacy  between  the  families.  They  had 
shared  a  common  danger  and  a  mutual  deliverance.    They 


108  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

needed  each  other's  a-ssistance,  like  a  company,  who, 
crossing  a  mountain  stream,  are  compelled  to  cling  close 
together,  lest  the  current  should  be  too  powerful  for  any 
who  are  not  thus  supported. 

On  nearer  acquaintance,  too.  Deans  abated  some  of  his 
prejudices.  He  found  old  Mrs.  Butler,  though  not  thor- 
oughly grounded  in  the  extent  and  bearing  of  the  real 
testimony  against  the  defections  of  the  times,  had  no 
opinions  in  favor  of  the  Independent  party;  neither  was 
she  an  Englishwoman.  Therefore,  it  was  to  be  hoped, 
that,  though  she  was  the  widow  of  an  enthusiastic  corporal 
of  Cromwell's  dragoons,  her  grandson  might  be  neither 
schismatic  nor  anti-national,  two  qualities  concerning 
which  Goodman  Deans  had  as  wholesome  a  terror  as 
against  papists  and  malignants.  Above  all  (for  Douce 
Davie  Deans  had  his  weak  side),  he  perceived  that  widow 
Butler  looked  up  to  him  with  reverence,  listened  to  his 
advice,  and  compounded  for  an  occasional  fling  at  the 
doctrines  of  her  deceased  husband,  to  which,  as  we  have 
seen,  she  was  by  no  means  warmly  attached,  in  considera- 
tion of  the  valuable  counsels  which  the  Presbyterian 
afforded  her  for  the  management  of  her  little  farm.  These 
usually  concluded  with,  "They  may  do  other^vise  in  Eng- 
land, neighbor  Butler,  for  aught  I  ken";  or,  *Tt  may  be 
different  in  foreign  parts";  or,  "They  wha  think  different- 
ly on  the  great  fouudation  of  our  covenanted  reformation, 
overturning  and  mishguggling  the  government  and  dis- 
cipline of  the  kirk,  and  breaking  down  the  carved  work 
of  our  Zion,  might  be  for  sawing  the  craft  wi'  aits;  but  I 
say  pease,  pease."  And  as  his  advice  was  shrewd  and 
sensible,  though  conceitedly  given,  it  was  received  with 
gratitude,  and  followed  with  respect. 

The  intercourse  which  took  place  betwixt  the  families 
at  Beersheba  and  Woodend,  became  strict  and  intimate,  at 
a  very  early  period,  betwixt  Reuben  Butler,  with  whom 
the  reader  is  already  in  some  degree  acquainted,  and 
Jeanie  Deans,  the  only  child  of  Douce  Davie  Deans  by 
his  first  wife,  "that  singular  Christian  woman,"  as  he  was 
wont  to  express  himself,  "whose  name  was  savory  to  all 
that  knew  her  for  a  desirable  professor.  Christian  Menzies 
in  Hochmagirdle."  The  manner  of  which  intimacy,  and 
the  consequences  thereof,  we  now  proceed  to  relate. 


"-"^T  ^i-TtiT'^    ,^iF  3C    .     :zijlj^         WSb 


^fcfuiii'i-   TTTTT  "ts^rrti",    -nmopr  ;e    fiinr  ;k  mves^ 


VsE3:  -T-iar-^r  jimitr-  izlli 
i2i5^  if.  "mt  amfF  rr  _ 


^t  i:.     !Ei& 


TnTnTHT-    iii  rat  ait 


UiljLfcfc 


an  (JHi:  iii^ 

-rr  m-  ,    ^ 


*  fci^r"       *AJ  '    \  -  -i-i-J.  ^  '■  •'  «-.!- 


110  THE    HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

him  a  sort  of  diffidence  in  himself,  with  a  disposition  to 
overrate  his  own  importance,  which  is  one  of  the  very 
worst  consequences  that  children  deduce  from  over- 
indulgence. 

Still,  however,  the  two  children  clung  to  each  other's 
society,  not  more  from  habit  than  from  taste.  They 
herded  together  the  handful  of  sheep,  with  the  two  or 
three  cows,  which  their  parents  turned  out  rather  to  seek 
food  than  actually  to  feed  upon  the  unenclosed  common 
of  Dumbiedikes.  It  was  there  that  the  two  urchins  might 
be  seen  seated  beneath  a  blooming  bush  of  whin,  their 
little  faces  laid  close  together  under  the  shadow  of  the 
same  plaid  drawn  over  both  their  heads,  while  the  land- 
scape around  was  embrowned  by  an  overshadowing  cloud, 
big  with  the  shower  which  had  driven  the  children  to 
shelter.  On  other  occasions  they  went  together  to  school, 
the  boy  receiving  that  encouragement  and  example  from 
his  companion,  in  crossing  the  little  brooks  which  inter- 
sected their  path,  and  encountering  cattle,  dogs,  and  other 
perils,  upon  their  journey,  which  the  male  sex  in  such 
/  cases  usually  consider  it  as  their  prerogative  to  extend 
to  the  weaker.  But  when,  seated  on  the  benches  of  the 
school-house,  they  began  to  con  their  lessons  together, 
Reuben,  who  was  as  much  superior  to  Jeanie  Deans  in 
acuteness  of  intellect  as  inferior  to  her  in  firmness  of 
constitution,  and  in  that  insensibility  to  fatigue  and 
danger  which  depends  on  the  conformation  of  the  nerves, 
was  able  fully  to  requite  the  kindness  and  countenance 
with  which,  in  other  circumstances,  she  used  to  regard 
him.  He  was  decidedly  the  best  scholar  at  the  little 
parish  school;  and  so  gentle  was  his  temper  and  disposi- 
tion, that  he  was  rather  admired  than  envied  by  the  little 
mob  who  occupied  the  noisy  mansion,  although  he  was  the 
declared  favorite  of  the  master.  Several  girls,  in  particu- 
lar (for  in  Scotland  they  are  taught  with  the  boys), 
longed  to  be  kind  to,  and  comfort,  the  sickly  lad,  who  was 
so  much  cleverer  than  his  companions.  The  character  of 
Reuben  Butler  was  so  calculated  as  to  offer  scope  both  for 
their  sympathy  and  their  admiration,  the  feelings,  per- 
haps, through  which  the  female  sex  (the  more  deserving 
part  of  them  at  least)  is  more  easily  attached. 

But  Reuben,  naturally  reserved  and  distant,  improved 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  111 

none  of  these  advantag-es ;  and  only  became  more  attached 
to  Jeanie  Deans,  as  the  enthusiastic  approbation  of  his 
master  assured  him  of  fair  prospects  in  future  life,  and 
awakened  his  ambition.  In  the  meantime,  every  advance 
that  Reuben  made  in  learning  (and,  considering  his 
opportunities,  they  were  uncommonly  great)  rendered 
him  less  capable  of  attending  to  the  domestic  duties  of 
his  grandmother's  farm.  While  studying  the  pons  asino- 
rum  in  Euclid,  he  suffered  every  cuddie  upon  the  common 
to  trespass  upon  a  large  field  of  pease  belonging  to  the 
Laird,  and  nothing  but  the  active  exertions  of  Jeanie 
Deans,  with  her  little  dog  Dustiefoot,  could  have  saved 
great  loss  and  consequent  punishment.  Similar  mis- 
carriages marked  his  progress  in  his  classical  studies.  He 
read  Virgil's  Georgics  till  he  did  not  know  bear  from 
barley;  and  had  nearly  destroyed  the  crofts  of  Beersheba, 
while  attempting  to  cultivate  them  according  to  the  prac- 
tice of  Columella  and  Cato  the  Censor. 

These  blunders  occasioned  grief  to  his  grand-dame,  and 
disconcerted  the  good  opinion  which  her  neighbor,  Davie 
Deans,  had  for  some  time  entertained  of  Reuben.' 

'T  see  naething  ye  can  make  of  that  silly  callant, 
neighbor  Butler,"  said  he  to  the  old  lady,  "unless  ye  train 
him  to  the  wark  o'  the  ministry.  And  ne'er  was  there 
mair  need  of  poorfu'  preachers  than  e'en  now  in  these 
cauld  Gallio  days,  when  men's  hearts  are  hardened  like 
the  nether  millstone,  till  they  come  to  regard  none  of 
these  things.  It's  evident  this  puir  callant  of  yours  will 
never  be  able  to  do  an  usefu'  day's  wark,  unless  it  be  as 
an  ambassador  from  our  Master;  and  I  will  make  it  my 
business  to  procure  a  license  when  he  is  fit  for  the  same, 
trusting  he  will  be  a  shaft  cleanly  polished,  and  meet  to 
be  used  in  the  body  of  the  kirk ;  and  that  he  shall  not  turn 
again,  like  the  sow,  to  wallow  in  the  mire  of  heretical 
extremes  and  defections,  but  shall  have  the  wings  of  a 
dove,  though  he  hath  lain  among  the  pots." 

The  poor  widow  gulped  down  the  affront  to  her  hus- 
band's principles,  implied  in  this  caution,  and  hastened 
to  take  Butler  from  the  High  School,  and  encourage  him 
in  the  pursuit  of  mathematics  and  divinity,  the  only 
physics  and  ethics  that  chanced  to  be  in  fashion  at  the 
time. 


112  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

Jeanle  Deans  was  now  compelled  to  part  from  the  com- 
panion of  her  labor,  her  study,  and  her  pastime,  and  it 
was  with  more  than  childish  feeling  that  both  children 
regarded  the  separation.  But  they  were  young,  and  hope 
was  high,  and  they  separated  like  those  who  hope  to  meet 
again  at  a  more  auspicious  hour. 

While  Reuben  Butler  was  acquiring  at  the  University 
of  St.  Andrews  the  knowledge  necessary  for  a  clergyman, 
and  macerating  his  body  with  the  privations  which  were 
necessary  in  seeking  food  for  his  mind,  his  grand-dame 
became  daily  less  able  to  struggle  with  her  little  farm, 
and  was  at  length  obliged  to  throw  it  up  to  the  new  Laird 
of  Dumbiedikes.  That  great  personage  was  no  absolute 
Jew,  and  did  not  cheat  her  in  making  the  bargain  more 
than  was  tolerable.  He  even  gave  her  permission  to 
tenant  the  house  in  which  she  had  lived  with  her  hus- 
band, as  long  as  it  should  be  "tenantable" ;  only  he  pro- 
tested against  paying  for  a  farthing  of  repairs,  any 
benevolence  which  he  possessed  being  of  the  passive  but 
by  no  means  of  the  active  mood. 

In  the  meanwhile,  from  superior  shrewdness,  skill,  and 
other  circumstances,  some  of  them  purely  accidental, 
Davie  Deans  gain.ed  a  footing  in  the  world,  the  possession 
of  some  wealth,  the  reputation  of  more,  and  a  growing 
disposition  to  preserve  and  increase  his  store;  for  which, 
when  he  thought  upon  it  seriously,  he  was  inclined  to 
blame  himself.  From  his  knowledge  in  agriculture,  as  it 
was  then  practised,  he  became  a  sort  of  favorite  with  the 
Laird,  who  had  no  pleasure  either  in  active  sports  or  in 
society,  and  was  wont  to  end  his  daily  saunter  by  calling 
at  the  cottage  of  Woodend. 

Being  himself  a  man  of  slow  ideas  and  confused  utter- 
ance, Dumbiedikes  used  to  sit  or  stand  for  half-an-hour 
with  an  old  laced  hat  of  his  father's  upon  his  head,  and 
an  empty  tobacco-pipe  in  his  mouth,  with  his  eyes  follow- 
ing Jeanie  Deans,  or  ''the  lassie,"  as  he  called  her,  through 
the  course  of  her  daily  domestic  labor;  while  her  father, 
after  exhausting  the  subject  of  bestial,  of  ploughs,  and  of 
harrows,  often  took  an  opportunity  of  going  full  sail  into 
controversial  subjects,  to  which  discussions  the  dignitary 
listened  with  much  seeming  patience,  but  without  making 
any  reply,  or,  indeed,  as  most  people  thought,  without  un- 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  113 

derstanding'  a  single  Tvord  of  what  the  orator  was  saying. 
Deans,  indeed,  denied  this  stoutly,  as  an  insult  at  once  to 
his  own  talents  for  expounding  hidden  truths,  of  which 
he  was  a  little  vain,  and  to  the  Laird's  capacity  of  under- 
standing them.  He  said,  "Dumbiedikes  was  nane  of  these 
flashy  g-entles,  wi'  lace  on  their  skirts  and  swords  at  their 
tails,  that  were  rather  for  riding  on  horseback  to  hell  than 
ganging-  barefooted  to  heaven.  He  wasna  like  his  father — 
na-e  profane  company-keeper — nae  swearer — nae  drinker — 
nae  frequenter  of  play-house,  or  music-house,  or  dancing- 
house — nae  Sabbath-breaker — nae  imposer  of  aiths,  or 
bonds,  or  denier  of  liberty  to  the  flock. — He  clave  to  the 
warld,  and  the  warld's  gear,  a  wee  ower  muckle,  but  then 
there  was  some  breathing  of  a  gale  upon  his  spirit,"  etc., 
etc.    All  this  honest  Davie  said  and  believed. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  that,  by  a  father  and  a  man  of 
sense  and  observation,  the  constant  direction  of  the 
Laird's  eyes  toward  Jeanie  was  altogether  unnoticed. 
This  circumstance,  however,  made  a  much  greater  im- 
pression upon  another  member  of  his  family,  a  second 
helpmate,  to  wit,  whom  he  had  chosen  to  take  to  his 
bosom  ten  years  after  the  death  of  his  first.  Some'  people 
were  of  opinion,  that  Douce  Davie  had  been  rather  sur- 
prised into  this  step,  for  in  general  he  was  no  friend  to 
marriages  or  giving  in  marriage,  and  seemed  rather  to 
regard  that  state  of  society  as  a  necessary  evil, — a  thing 
lawful,  and  to  be  tolerated  in  the  imperfect  state  of  our 
nature,  but  which  clipped  the  wings  with  which  we  ought 
to  soar  upward,  and  tethered  the  soul  to  its  mansion  of 
clay,  and  the  creature-comforts  of  wife  and  bairns.  His 
own  practice,  however,  had  in  this  material  point  varied 
from  his  i^rinciples,  since,  as  we  have  seen,  he  twice 
knitted  for  himself  this  dangerous  and  ensnaring  en- 
tanglement. 

Rebecca,  his  spouse,  had  by  no  means  the  same  horror 
of  matrimony,  and  as  she  made  marriages  in  imagination 
for  every  neighbor  round,  she  failed  not  to  indicate  a 
match  betwixt  Dumbiedikes  and  her  step-daughter  Jeanie. 
The  goodman  used  regularly  to  frown  and  pshaw  M'hen- 
ever  this  topic  was  touched  upon,  but  usually  ended  by 
taking  his  bonnet  and  walking  out  of  the  house  to  con- 
ceal a  certain  gleam  of  satisfaction,  whifh.  -at  siu-h  a  sug- 


114  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

gestion,  involuntarily  diffused  itself  over  his  austere 
features. 

The  more  youthful  part  of  my  readers  may  naturally 
ask,  whether  Jeanie  Deans  was  deserving  'of  this  mute 
attention  of  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes;  and  the  historian 
with  due  regard  to  veracity,  is  compelled  to  answer,  that 
her  personal  attractions  were  of  no  uncommon  descrip- 
tion. She  was  short,  and  rather  too  stoutly  made  for  her 
size,  had  gray  eyes,  light-colored  hair,  a  round  good- 
humored  face,  much  tanned  with  the  sun,  and  her  only 
peculiar  charm  was  an  air  of  inexpressible  serenity,  which 
a  good  conscience,  kind  feelings,  contented  temper,  and 
the  regular  discharge  of  all  her  duties,  spread  over  her 
features.  There  was  nothing,  it  may  be  supposed,  very 
appalling  in  the  form  or  manners  of  this  rustic  heroine; 
yet,  whether  from  sheepish  bashfulness,  or  from  want  of 
decision  and  imperfect  knowledge  of  his  own  mind  on  the 
subject,  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes,  with  his  old  laced  hat 
and  empty  tobacco-pipe,  came  and  enjoyed  the  beatific 
vision  of  Jeanie  Deans  day  after  day,  week  after  week, 
year  after  year,  without  proposing  to  accomplish  any  of 
the  prophecies  of  the  step-mother. 

This  good  lady  began  to  grow  doubly  impatient  on  the 
subject,  when,  after  having  been  some  years  married,  she 
herself  presented  Douce  Davie  with  another  daughter, 
who  was  named  Euphemia,  by  corruption,  Effie.  It  was 
then  that  Rebecca  began  to  turn  impatient  with  the  slow 
pace  at  which  the  Laird's  wooing  proceeded,  judiciously 
arguing,  that,  as  Lady  Dumbiedikes  would  have  but  little 
occasion  for  tocher,  the  principal  part  of  her  gudeman's 
substance  would  naturally  descend  to  the  child  by  the 
second  marriage.  Other  step-dames  have  tried  less  laud- 
able means  for  clearing  the  way  to  the  succession  of  their 
own  children;  "but  Rebecca,  to  do  her  justice,  only  sought 
little  Effie's  advantage  through  the  promotion,  or  which 
must  have  generally  been  accounted  such,  of  her  elder 
sister.  She  therefore  tried  every  female  art  within  the 
compass  of  her  simple  skill,  to  bring  the  Laird  to  a  point; 
but  had  the  mortification  to  perceive  that  her  efforts,  like 
those  of  an  unskilful  angler,  only  scared  the  trout  she 
meant  to  catch.  Upon  one  occasion,  in  particular,  when 
she  joked  with  the  Laird  on  the  propriety  of  giving  a 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  115 

mistress  to  the  house  of  Dumbiedikes,  he  was  so  eifectu- 
ally  startled,  that  neither  laced  hat,  tobacco-pipe,  nor  the 
intelligrent  proprietor  of  these  movables,  visited  Woodend 
for  a  fortniirht.  Rebecca  was  therefore  compelled  to  leave 
the  Laird  to  proceed  at  his  own  snail's  pace,  convinced,  by 
experience,  of  the  grave-digger's  aphorism,  that  your  dull 
ass  will  not  mend  his  pace  for  beating. 

Reuben,  in  the  meantime,  pursued  his  studies  at  the 
university,  supplying  his  wants  by  teaching  the  younger 
lads  the  knowledge  he  himself  acquired,  and  thus  at  once 
gaining  the  means  of  maintaining  himself  at  the  seat  of 
learning,  and  fixing  in  his  mind  the  elements  of  what 
he  had  already  obtained.  In  this  manner,  as  is  usual 
among  the  poorer  students  of  divinity  at  Scottish  uni- 
versities, he  contrived  not  only  to  maintain  himself 
according  to  his  simple  wants,  but  even  to  send  consider- 
able assistance  to  his  sole  remaining  parent,  a  sacred 
duty,  of  which  the  Scotch  are  seldom  negligent.  His 
progress  in  knowledge  of  a  general  kind,  as  well  as  in 
the  studies  proper  to  his  profession,  was  very  considerable, 
but  was  little  remarked,  owing  to  the  retired  modesty  of 
his  disposition,  which  in  no  respect  qualified  him  to  set 
off  his  learning  to  the  best  advantage.  And  thus,  had 
Butler  been  a  man  given  to  make  complaints,  he  had  his 
tale  to  tell,  like  others,  of  unjust  preferences,  bad  luck, 
and  hard  usage.  On  these  subjects,  however,  he  was 
habitually  silent,  perhaps  from  modesty,  perhaps  from  a 
touch  of  pride,  or  perhaps  from  a  conjunction  of  both. 

He  obtained  his  license  as  a  preacher  of  the  gospel, 
with  some  compliments  from  the  presbytery  by  whom  it 
was  bestowed;  but  this  did  not  lead  to  any  preferment, 
and  he  found  it  necessary  to  make  the  cottage  at  Beer- 
sheba  his  residence  for  some  months,  with  no  other 
income  than  was  afforded  by  the  precarious  occupation 
of  teaching  in  one  or  other  of  the  neighboring  families. 
After  having  greeted  his  aged  grandmother,  his  first  visit 
was  to  Woodend,  where  he  was  received  by  Jeanie  with 
warm  cordiality,  arising  from  recollections  which  had 
never  been  dismissed  from  her  mind,  by  Rebecca  with 
good-humored  hospitality,  and  by  old  Deans  in  a  mode 
peculiar  to   himself. 

Highly  as  Douce  Davie  honored  the  clergy,  it  was  not 


116  THE    IIKAliT    OF    MJD-LOTIIIAX 

upon  each  individual  of  the  oloth  that  Ijo  bestowed  his 
approbation;  and,  a  little  jealous,  perhaps,  at  seeing  his 
youthful  acquaintance  erecU.-d  into  the  dig-nity  of  a 
teacher  and  preacher,  he  instantly  attacked  him  upon 
various  points  of  controversy,  in  order  to  discover  whether 
he  might  not  have  fallen  into  some  of  the  snares,  de- 
fections, and  desertions  of  the  time,  liutler  was  not  only 
a  man  of  stanch  Presbyterian  i^rinciples,  but  was  also 
willing  to  avoid  giving  pain  to  his  old  friend  by  disputing 
ufion  points  of  little  importance;  and  therefore  he  might 
have  hoped  to  have  come  like  refined  gold  out  of  the 
furnace  of  Davie's  intt.Trogatories.  But  the  result  on 
the  mind  of  that  strict  investigator  was  not  altogc-ther  so 
favorable  as  might  have  been  hoped  and  antici^mted.  Old 
Judith  Jiutler,  who  had  hobbled  that  evening  as  far  as 
Woodend,  in  order  to  enjoy  the  congratulations  of  her 
neighbors  upon  Reuben's  return,  and  ujjon  his  high  attain- 
ments, of  which  she  was  herself  not  a  little  proud,  was 
somewhat  mortified  t^>  find  that  her  old  friend  iJeans  did 
not  enter  into  the  subject  with  the  warmth  she  ex[>ected. 
At  first,  indeed,  he  seern^-d  rather  silent  than  dissatisfied; 
and  it  was  not  till  .Judith  had  essayed  the  subject  more 
than  once  that  it  led  to  the  following  dialogue: — 

"  *   vef;],  nelbor  Deans,  I  thought  ye  wad  hae  been  glad 
Keuben  amang  us  again,  poor  fellow." 
i    am   glad,  Mrs.   Jiut.^r,"    v/an   tiie   rj<;ighbor's  concise 
...ii-wer. 

"Since  he  has  lost  his  ^andfathr;r  and  his  father 
('praised  be  Jfim  that  giveth  arjd  taketh!;  i  kf;n  nae 
friend  he  has  in  the  world  that's  b(}en  sae  like  a  father  to 
him  as  the  sell  o'  ye,  neibor  Df;ans." 

"Ood  is  the  only  father  of  the  fatherless,"  said  Dejins, 
touching  his   bonnet   and    looking   upward.      "Oive  honor 

.':re  it  18  due,  gudewife,  and  not  to  an  un worthy 
iij-.trument.^* 

"Aweel,  that's  your  way  o'  turrjing  it,  and  mx-.  doubt, 
ye  ken  best;  but  1  hae  kend  ye,  huvlc,  H'-nd  ;i.  forpit,  o' 
meal  to  lieershe-ba  wbf;rj  there  wa.-.na  a  how  i(;[L  in  the 
rneal-ark   at   Woodend;   ay,   and    1    hae   kend   ye " 

'Oudev,  If<;,"  .i)'i(\  Jjavi*;,  irit/;rrupt,iri{/  \n:r,  ''these  are 
hut.  jdi';  t;jj<-,  to  tell  me;  fit,  for  naetjijng  but  to  puff  uj> 
our   jnv/ard    man  wi'   our   ;nn    vain    acts,     1  Stude   beside 


THE    UFAKT   OF   MID-LOTRIAX  117 

blessed  Ale3aind<er  Peden,  wben  I  besud  him  call  tbe 
death  and  te>'  of  our  happy  martyrs  l>iit  draps  of 

bludo  and  sc.  -  nk  in  lespeot  of  nttinir  dischai^  of 
our  duty;  and  \rhat  suld  I  think  of  onythiuir  the  like  of 
me  can  do?" 

**Weel.  neiK^r  I^eans*  ye  ken  best ;  hut  I  maun  say  that^ 

I  am  sure  you  are  srlad  to  see  my  baim  a^rain — the  halt's 

g:aiie  now,  unless  he  has  to  ualk  ower  mony  mik^  at  a 

stretch;  and  he  has  a  woe  bit  color  in  his  cheek,  that 

"    '  -  ' '  see  it ;  and  he  has  as  d^?ent  a  black 

,  auci — ^ — *"' 

"1  am  veiy  heartily  srlad  he  is  weel  and  thrivin^r,*'  said 
2Xr.  Deans,  with  a  gravity  that  seenxxl  intended  to  cut 
short  the  subject;  but  a  woman  who  is  bent  upon  a  point 
is  not  easily  pushed  aside  from  it. 

"And."  continued  Mrs.  Butler,  "he  can  wa^  his  hesad  in 
a  pulpit  11  .-^vr.  tioiK-^r  Deans,  think  but  of  that — ^my  ain 
oe — ^s  1  sit  stiU  and  listen  to  him,  as  if  he 

-o-ore  :...    .  ...,    ,  .  ...nw,'' 

"The  what  I — the  who! — ^womanP  said  Deans,  with  a 
—  -  K'yond  his  visual  srravity,  as  skxhi  as  Uiese 
r-.ls  h:^?,  stniv-^'k  uix->n  the  tyr-'ri-inTiTn  of  his 
ear. 

a:.  had  a; , . 

gv  >  :  /;  ;ni  Butler.     Mv>n,v 
si:  his  testiuKUjy  r-  : 

K.  nis,  and  the  1 

'  U  :oil  Deans,    Vi 

ye  kci.  --  _  .  .  or  K*  silent;  T 

is  a  foul  heiV5=vV,  and  anabaptism  ; 

ir  -.-..- 

c*         -.  .      .  -  -.  -        -."^ 

"Weei,  weel,  neibt>r,  lii  no  say  that  ye  mayna  K^  risAt,'' 
;;:iswvrtxl  the  submissive  Judith.  "I  am  sure  ve  aie  ri$:ht 
aK>ut  the  sawiuir  and  the  mawin^,  the  shtNariuy  and  the 
leadii^,   and  what  for  suld  ye  no  K*   rijiht  aKnit  kirk 

>^-ark.  too! — But  cer>T'-''T^  nxy  oe,  Reuben  Butler ^* 

"KeuKni  Butler,  »:  ,"  said  David,  with  soknmity, 

"is  a  *    "  '      :sh  heart ;*,v  w^x-^l  to.  even  as  it  he  were  mine 
ain  s  I  vioubt  there  will  W  outs  and  ins  in  the 

trac4w  of  his  walk.    I  muckle  fear  his  drifts  will  «et  the 


;     I  - 

wnat 

a'lid  >- 

pair 
x>n  he  ^vad 

- ,  and  a^in 

V--.V     ■''^" 

and  dtxvir* 

"■  0  &ne 

118  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

heels  of  his  grace.  He  has  ower  muckle  human  wit  and 
learning,  and  thinks  as  muckle  about  the  form  of  the 
bicker  as  he  does  about  the  healsomeness  of  the  food — 
he  maun  broider  the  marriage-garment  with  lace  and 
passments,  or  it's  no  gude  eneugh  for  him.  And  it's  like 
he's  something  proud  o'  his  human  gifts  and  learning, 
whilk  enables  him  to  dress  up  his  doctrine  in  that  fine 
airy  dress.  But,"  added  he,  at  seeing  the  old  woman's 
uneasiness  at  his  discourse,  "affliction  may  gie  him  a  jagg, 
and  let  the  wind  out  o'  him,  as  out  o'  a  cow  that's  eaten 
wet  clover,  and  the  lad  may  do  weel,  and  be  a  burning 
and  a  shining  light ;  and  I  trust  it  will  be  yours  to  see,  and 
his  to  feel  it,  and  that  soon." 

Widow  Butler  was  obliged  to  retire,  unable  to  make 
anything  more  of  her  neighbor,  whose  discourse,  though 
she  did  not  comprehend  it,  filled  her  with  undefined 
apprehensions  on  her  grandson's  account,  and  greatly  de- 
pressed the  joy  with  which  she  had  M^elcomed  him  on  his 
return.  And  it  must  not  be  concealed,  in  justice  to  Mr. 
Deans's  discernment,  that  Butler,  in  their  conference,  had 
made  a  greater  display  of  his  learning  than  the  occasion 
called  for,  or  than  was  likely  to  be  acceptable  to  the  old 
man,  who,  accustomed  to  consider  himself  as  a  person 
pre-eminently  entitled  to  dictate  upon  theological  subjects 
of  controversy,  felt  rather  humbled  and  mortified  when 
learned  authorities  were  placed  in  array  against  him.  In 
fact,  Butler  had  not  escaped  the  tinge  of  pedantry  which 
naturally  flowed  from  his  education,  and  was  apt,  on 
many  occasions,  to  make  parade  of  his  knowledge,  when 
there  was  no  need  of  such  vanity. 

Jeanie  Deans,  however,  found  no  fault  with  this  display 
of  learning,  but,  on  the  contrary,  admired  it;  perhaps  on 
the  same  score  that  her  sex  are  said  to  admire  men  of 
courage,  on  account  of  their  own  deficiency  in  that  quali- 
fication. The  circumstances  of  their  families  threw  the 
young  people  constantly  together;  their  old  intimacy  was 
renewed,  though  upon  a  footing  better  adapted  to  their 
age;  and  it  became  at  length  understood  betwixt  them, 
that  their  union  should  be  deferred  no  longer  than  until 
Butler  should  obtain  some  steady  means  of  support,  how- 
ever humble.  This,  however,  was  not  a  matter  speedily 
to  be  accomplished.     Plan   after  plan  was  formed,   and 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  119 

plan  after  plan  failed.  The  g:ood-humorecl  cheek  of 
Jeanie  lost  the  first  flush  of  juvenile  freshness^  Reuben's 
brow  assumed  the  gravity  of  manhood,  yet  the  means  of 
obtaining  a  settlement  seemed  remote  as  ever.  Fortunate- 
ly for  the  lovers,  their  passion  was  of  no  ardent  or  en- 
thusiastic cast;  and  a  sense  of  duty  on  both  sides  induced 
them  to  bear,  with  patient  fortitude,  the  protracted 
interval  which  divided  them  from  each  other. 

In  the  meanwhile,  time  did  not  roll  on  without  effecting 
his  usual  changes.  The  widow  of  Stephen  Butler,  so  long 
the  prop  of  the  family  of  Beersheba,  was  gathered  to  her 
fathers ;  and  Rebecca,  the  careful  spouse  of  our  friend 
Davie  Deans,  was  also  summoned  from  her  plans  of  matri- 
monial and  domestic  economy.  The  morning  after  her 
death,  Reuben  Butler  went  to  offer  his  mite  of  consolation 
to  his  old  friend  and  benefactor.  He  witnessed,  on  this 
occasion,  a  remarkable  struggle  betwixt  the  force  of 
natural  affection  and  the  religious  stoicism  which  the 
sutlerer  thought  it  was  incumbent  upon  him  to  maintain 
under  each  earthly  dispensation,  whether  of  weal  or  woe. 

On  his  arrival  at  the  cottage,  Jeanie,  with  her  eyes 
overflowing  with  tears,  pointed  to  the  little  orchard,  "in 
which,"  she  whispered  with  broken  accents,  ''my  poor 
father  has  been  since  his  misfortune."  Somewhat  alarmed 
at  this  account,  Butler  entered  the  orchard,  and  advanced 
slowly  toward  his  old  friend,  who,  seated  in  a  small  rude 
arbor,  appeared  to  be  sunk  in  the  extremity  of  his  atflic- 
tion.  He  lifted  his  eyes  somewhat  sternly  as  Butler 
approached,  as  if  offended  at  the  interruption;  but  as  the 
young  man  hesitated  whether  he  ought  to  retreat  or  ad- 
vance, he  arose,  and  came  forward  to  meet  him,  with  a 
self-possessed,  and  even  dignified  air. 

"Young  man,"  said  the  sufferer,  "lay  it  not  to  heart, 
though  the  righteous  perish  and  the  merciful  are  removed, 
seeing  it  may  well  be  said,  that  they  are  taken  away  from 
the  evils  to  come.  Woe  to  me,  were  I  to  shed  a  tear  for 
the  wife  of  my  bosom,  when  I  might  weep  rivers  of  water 
for  this  afflicted  Church,  cursed  as  it  is  with  carnal 
seekers,  and  with  the  dead  of  heart." 

"I  am  happy,"  said  Butler,  "that  you  can  forget  your 
private  affliction  in  your  regard  for  public  duty." 

"Forget,  Reuben?"  said  poor  Deans,  putting  his  hand- 


120  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

kerchief  to  his  eyes, — "She's  not  to  be  forgotten  on  this 
side  of  time;  but  He  that  gives  the  wound  can  send  the 
ointment.  I  declare  there  have  been  times  during  this 
night  when  my  meditation  has  been  so  wrapt,  that  I  knew 
not  of  my  heavy  loss.  It  has  been  with  me  as  with  the 
worthy  John  Semple,  called  Carspharn  John,*  upon  a  like 
atrial, — I  have  been  this  night  on  the  banks  of  Ulai,  pluck- 
ing an  apple  here  and  there." 

Notwithstanding  the  assumed  fortitude  of  Deans,  which 
he  conceived  to  be  the  discharge  of  a  great  Christian 
duty,  he  had  too  good  a  heart  not  to  suffer  deeply  under 
this  heavy  loss.  Woodend  became  altogether  distasteful 
to  him;  and  as  he  had  obtained  both  substance  and  ex- 
perience by  his  management  of  that  little  farm,  he 
resolved  to  employ  them  as  a  dairy-farmer,  or  cowfeeder, 
as  they  are  called  in  Scotland.  The  situation  he  chose 
for  his  new  settlement  was  at  a  place  called  Saint 
Leonard's  Crags,  lying  betwixt  Edinburgh  and  the  moun- 
tain called  Arthur's  Seat,  and  adjoining  to  the  extensive 
sheep  pasture  still  named  the  King's  Park,  from  its  hav- 
ing been  formerly  dedicated  to  the  preservation  of  the 
royal  game.  Here  he  rented  a  small  lonely  house,  about 
half  a  mile  distant  from  the  nearest  point  of  the  city,  but 
the  site  of  which,  with  all  the  adjacent  ground,  is  now 
occupied  by  the  buildings  which  form  the  southeastern 
suburb.  An  extensive  pasture-ground  adjoining,  which 
Deans  rented  from  the  keeper  of  the  Royal  Park,  enabled 
him  to  feed  his  milk-cows;  and  the  unceasing  industry 
and  activity  of  Jeanie,  his  eldest  daughter,  was  exerted 
in  making  the  most  of  their  produce. 

She  had  now  less  frequent  opportunities  of  seeing 
Reuben,  who  had  been  obliged,  after  various  disappoint- 
ments, to  accept  the  subordinate  situation  of  assistant  in 
a  parochial  school  of  some  eminence,  at  three  or  four 
miles  distance  from  the  city.  Here  he  distinguished  him- 
self, and  became  acquainted  with  several  respectable 
burgesses,  who,  on  account  of  health,  or  other  reasons, 
chose  that  their  children  should  commence  their  educa- 
tion in  this  little  village.  His  prospects  were  thus 
gradually  brightening,  and  upon  each  visit  which  he  paid 

*  Note   II. — Carspharn  John. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  121 

at  Saint  Leonard's  he  had  an  opportunity  of  gliding  a 
liint  to  this  purpose  into  Jeanie's  ear.  These  visits  were 
necessarily  very  rare,  on  account  of  the  demands  which 
the  duties  of  the  school  made  upon  Butler's  time.  ISTor 
did  he  dare  to  make  them  even  altogether  so  frequent  as 
these  avocations  would  permit.  Deans  received  him  with 
civility  indeed,  and  even  with  kindness;  but  Reuben,  as 
is  usual  in  such  cases,  imagined  that  he  read  his  purpose 
in  his  eyes,  and  was  afraid  too  premature  an  explanation 
on  the  subject  would  draw  down  his  positive  disapproval. 
Upon  the  whole,  therefore,  he  judged  it  prudent  to  call  at 
Saint  Leonard's  just  so  frequently  as  old  acquaintance 
and  neighborhood  seemed  to  authorize,  and  no  oftener. 
There  \v£is  another  person  who  was  more  regular  in  his 
visits. 

When  Davie  Deans  intimated  to  the  Laird  of  Dumbie- 
dikes  his  purpose  of  "quitting  wi'  the  land  and  house  at 
Woodend,"  the  Laird  stared  and  said  nothing.  He  made 
his  usual  visits  at  the  usual  hour  without  remark,  until 
the  day  before  the  term,  when,  observing  the  bustle  of 
moving  furniture  already  commenced,  the  great  east- 
country  awmrie  dragged  out  of  its  nook,  and  standing 
with  its  shoulder  to  the  company,  like  an  awkward  booby 
about  to  leave  the  room,  the  Laird  again  stared  mightily, 
and  was  heard  to  ejaculate,  "Hegh,  sirs !"  Even  after  the 
day  of  departure  was  past  and  gone,  the  Laird  of  Dumbie- 
dikes,  at  his  usual  hour,  which  was  that  at  which  David 
Deans  was  wont  to  "loose  the  pleugh,"  presented  himself 
before  the  closed  door  of  the  cottage  at  Woodend,  and 
seemed  as  much  astonished  at  finding  it  shut  against  his 
approach  as  if  it  was  not  exactly  what  he  had  to  expect. 
On  this  occasion  he  was  heard  to  ejaculate,  "Gude  guide 
us!''  which,  by  those  who  knew  him,  was  considered  as  a 
very  unusual  mark  of  emotion.  From  that  moment  for- 
ward, Dumbiedikes  became  an  altered  man,  and  the  regu- 
larity of  his  movements,  hitherto  so  exemplary,  was  as 
totally  disconcerted  as  those  of  a  boy's  watch  when  he  has 
broken  the  main-spring.  Like  the  index  of  the  said  watch, 
.  did  Dumbiedikes  spin  round  the  whole  bounds  of  his 
little  property,  which  may  be  likened  unto  the  dial  of  the 
time-piece,  with  unwonted  velocity.  There  was  not  a 
cottage  into  which  he  did  not  enter,  nor  scarce  a  maiden 


122  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

on  whom  he  did  not  stare.  But  so  it  was,  that  although 
there  were  better  farm-houses  on  the  land  than  Woodend, 
and  certainly  much  prettier  girls  than  Jeanie  Deans,  yet 
it  did  somehow  befall  that  the  blank  in  the  Laird's  time 
was  not  so  pleasantly  filled  up  as  it  had  been.  There  was  no 
seat  accommodated  him  so  well  as  the  "bunker"  at  Wood- 
end,  and  no  face  he  loved  so  much  to  gaze  on  as  Jeanie 
Deans's.  So,  after  spinning  round  and  round  his  little 
orbit,  and  then  remaining  stationary  for  a  week,  it  seems 
to  have  occurred  to  him,  that  he  was  not  pinned  down  to 
circulate  on  a  pivot,  like  the  hands  of  the  watch,  but 
possessed  the  power  of  shifting  his  central  point,  and  ex- 
tending his  circle  if  he  thought  proper.  To  realize  which 
privilege  of  change  of  place,  he  bought  a  pony  from  a 
Highland  drover,  and  with  its  assistance  and  company 
stepped,  or  rather  stumbled,  as  far  as  Saint  Leonard's 
Crags. 

Jeanie  Deans,  though  so  much  accustomed  to  the 
Laird's  staring  that  she  was  sometimes  scarce  conscious 
of  his  presence,  had  nevertheless  some  occasional  fears 
lest  he  should  call  in  the  organ  of  speech  to  back  those 
expressions  of  admiration  which  he  bestowed  on  her 
through  his  eyes.  Should  this  happen,  farewell,  she 
thought,  to  all  chance  of  a  union  with  Butler.  For  her 
father,  however  stout-hearted  and  independent  in  civil 
and  religious  principles,  was  not  without  that  respect  for 
the  l^aird  of  the  land,  so  deeply  imprinted  on  the  Scottish 
tenantry  of  the  period.  Moreover,  if  he  did  not  posi- 
tively dislike  Butler,  yet  his  fund  of  carnal  learning  was 
often  the  object  of  sarcasms  on  David's  part,  which  were 
perhaps  founded  in  jealousy,  and  which  certainly  indi- 
cated no  partiality  for  the  party  against  whom  they 
were  launched.  And,  lastly,  the  match  with  Dumbiedikes 
would  have  presented  irresistible  charms  to  one  who  used 
to  complain  that  he  felt  himself  apt  to  take  "ower  grit  an 
armfu'  o'  the  warld."  So  that,  upon  the  whole,  the 
Laird's  diurnal  visits  were  disagreeable  to  Jeanie  from 
apprehension  of  future  consequences,  and  it  served  much 
to  console  her,  upon  removing  from  the  spot  where  she 
was  bred  and  born,  that  she  had  seen  the  last  of  Dumbie- 
dikes, his  laced  hat,  and  tobacco-pipe.  The  poor  girl  no 
more   expected   he   could   muster   courage  to   follow   her 


THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  123 

to  Saint  Leonard's  Crags  than  that  any  of  her  apple- 
trees  or  cabbages  which  she  had  left  rooted  in  the  "yard" 
at  Woodend,  would  spontaneously,  and  unaided,  have  un- 
dertaken the  same  journey.  It  was,  therefore,  with  much 
more  surprise  than  pleasure  that,  on  the  sixth  day  after  ' 
their  removal  to  Saint  Leonard's,  she  beheld  Dumbiedikes 
arrive,  laced  hat,  tobacco-pipe,  and  all,  and,  with  the  self- 
same greeting  of  ''How's  a'  wi'  ye,  Jeanie? — Whare's  the 
gudeman  V  assume  as  nearly  as  he  could  the  same  position 
in  the  cottage  of  Saint  Leonard's  which  he  had  so  long 
and  so  regularly  occupied  at  Woodend.  He  was  no  sooner, 
however,  seated  than  with  an  unusual  exertion  of  his 
powers  of  conversation,  he  added,  ''Jeanie — I  say.  Jeanie, 
woman" — here  he  extended  his  hand  toward  her  shoulder 
with  all  the  fingers  spread  out  as  if  to  clutch  it,  but  in  so 
bashful  and  awkward  a  manner,  that  when  she  whisked 
herself  beyond  its  reach,  the  paw  remained  suspended  in 
the  air  with  the  palm  open,  like  the  claw  of  a  heraldic 
griffin — "Jeanie,"  continued  the  swain,  in  this  moment  of 
inspiration, — "I  say,  Jeanie,  it's  a  braw  day  out-by,  and 
the  roads  are  no  that  ill  for  boot-hose." 

"The  deil's  in  the  daidling  body,"  muttered  Jeanie  be- 
tween her  teeth:  "wha  wad  hae  thought  o'  his  daikering 
out  this  length?"  And  she  afterward  confessed  that  she 
threw  a  little  of  this  ungracious  sentiment  into  her  accent 
and  manner;  for  her  father  being  abroad,  and  the  "body," 
as  she  irreverently  termed  the  landed  proprietor,  "looking 
unco  gleg  and  canty,  she  didna  ken  what  he  might  be 
coming  out  wi'  next."  . 

Her  frowns,  however,  acted  as  a  complete  sedative,  and  / 
the  Laird  relapsed  from  that  day  into  his  former  taciturn  ( 
habits,  visiting  the  cowfeeder's  cottage  three  or  four  times 
every  week,  when  the  weather  permitted,  with  apparently 
no  other  purpose  than  to  stare  at  Jeanie  Deans,  while 
Douce  Davie  poured  forth  his  eloquence  upon  the  con- 
troversies and  testimonies  of  the  day. 


124  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTER   X 

Her  airs,  her  manners,  all  who  saw  admired. 
Courteous,  though  coy,  and  gentle,  though  retired; 
The  joy  of  youth  and  health  her  eyes  display'd; 
And  ease  of  heart  her  every  look  convey'd. 

— Crabbe, 

The  visits  of  the  Laird  thus  again  sunk  into  matters  of 
ordinary  course,  from  which  nothing  was  to  be  expected 
or  apprehended.  If  a  lover  could  have  gained  a  fair  one 
as  a  snake  is  said  to  fascinate  a  bird,  by  pertinaciously 
gazing  on  her  with  great  stupid  greenish  eyes,  which  be- 
gan now  to  be  occasionally  aided  by  spectacles,  unques- 
tionably Dumbiedikes  would  have  been  the  person  to 
perform  the  feat.  But  the  art  of  fascination  seems  among 
the  artes  perditcUj  and  I  cannot  learn  that  this  most 
pertinacious  of  starers  produced  any  effect  by  his  atten- 
tions beyond  an  occasional  yawn. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  object  of  his  gaze  was  gradually 
attaining  the  verge  of  youth,  and  approaching  to  what  is 
called  in  females  the  middle  age,  which  is  impolitely  held 
to  begin  a  few  years  earlier  with  their  more  fragile  sex 
than  with  men.  Many  people  would  have  been  of  opinion, 
that  the  Laird  would  have  done  better  to  have  transferred 
his  glances  to  an  object  possessed  of  far  superior  charms 
to  Jeanie's  even  when  Jeanie's  were  in  their  bloom,  who 
began  now  to  be  distinguished  by  all  who  visited  the 
cottage  at  Saint  Leonard's  Crags. 

Effie  Deans,  under  the  tender  and  affectionate  care  of 
her  sister,  had  now  shot  up  into  a  beautiful  and  blooming 
girl.  Her  Grecian-shaped  head  was  profusely  rich  in 
waving  ringlets  of  brown  hair,  which,  confined  by  a  blue 
snood  of  silk,  and  shading  a  laughing  Hebe  countenance, 
seemed  the  picture  of  health,  pleasure,  and  contentment. 
Her  brown  russet  short-gown  set  off  a  shape,  which  time, 
perhaps,  might  be  expected  to  render  too  robust,  the 
frequent  objection  to  Scottish  beauty,  but  which,  in  her 
present  early  age,  was  slender  and  taper,  with  that  grace- 
ful and  easy  sweep  of  outline  which  at  once  indicates 
health  and  beautiful  proportion  of  parts. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  125 

These  growing  charms,  in  all  their  juvenile  profusion, 
had  no  power  to  shake  the  steadfast  mind,  or  divert  the 
fixed  gaze,  of  the  constant  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes.  But 
there  was  scarce  another  eye  that  could  behold  this  living 
picture  of  health  and  beauty  without  pausing  on  it  with 
pleasure.  The  traveller  stopped  his  weary  horse  on  the 
eve  of  entering  the  city  which  was  the  end  of  his  journey, 
to  gaze  at  the  sylph-like  form  that  tripped  by  him,  with 
her  milk-pail  poised  on  her  head,  bearing  herself  so  erect, 
and  stepping  so  light  and  free  under  her  burden,  that  it 
seemed  rather  an  ornament  than  an  encumbrance.  The 
lads  of  the  neighboring  suburb,  who  held  their  evening 
rendezvous  for  putting  the  stone,  casting  the  hammer, 
playing  at  long  bowls,  and  other  athletic  exercises, 
watched  the  motions  of  Effie  Deans,  and  contended  with 
each  other  which  should  have  the  good  fortune  to  attract 
her  attention.  Even  the  rigid  Presbyterians  of  her 
father's  persuasion,  who  held  each  indulgence  of  the  eye 
and  sense  to  be  a  snare  at  least,  if  not  a  crime,  were  sur- 
prised into  a"  moment's  delight  while  gazing  on  a  creature 
so  exquisite, — instantly  checked  by  a  sigh,  reproaching  at 
once  their  own  weakness,  and  mourning  that  a  creature  \y 
so  fair  should  share  in  the  common  and  hereditary  guilt 
and  imperfection  of  our  nature.  She  was  currently  en- 
titled the  Lily  of  St.  Leonard's,  a  name  which  she  de- 
served as  much  by  her  guileless  purity  of  thought,  speech, 
and  action,  as  by  her  uncommon  loveliness  of  face  and 
person. 

Yet  there  were  points  in  Effie's  character  which  gave 
rise  not  only  to  strange  doubt  and  anxiety  on  the  part 
of  Douce  David  Deans,  whose  ideas  were  rigid,  as  may 
easily  be  supposed,  upon  the  subject  of  youthful  amuse- 
ments, but  even  of  serious  apprehension  to  her  more  in- 
dulgent sister.  The  children  of  the  Scotch  of  the  inferior 
classes  are  usually  spoiled  by  the  early  indulgence  of  their  ^ 
parents;  how,  wherefore,  and  to  what  degree,  the  lively 
and  instructive  narrative  of  the  amiable  and  accomplished 
authoress  of  "Glenburnie"  *  has  saved  me  and  all  future 
scribblers  the  trouble  of  recording.  Effie  had  had  a 
double  share  of  this  inconsiderate  and  misjudged  kind- 

*  Mrs.   Elizabeth  Hamilton,  now  no  more. — Editor. 


126  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

ness.  Even  the  strictness  of  her  father's  principles  could 
not  condemn  the  sports  of  infancy  and  childhood;  and 
to  the  good  old  man,  his  younger  daughter,  the  child  of 
his  old  age,  seemed  a  child  for  some  years  after  she  at- 
tained the  years  of  womanhood,  was  still  called  the  "bit 
lassie"  and  "little  Effie,"  and  was  permitted  to  run  up  and 
down  uncontrolled,  unless  upon  the  Sabbath  or  at  the 
times  of  family  worship.  Her  sister,  with  all  the  love 
and  care  of  a  mother,  could  not  be  supposed  to  possess 
the  same  authoritative  influence;  and  that  which  she  had 
hitherto  exercised  became  gradually  limited  and  dimin- 
ished as  Effie's  advancing  years  entitled  her,  in  her  own 
conceit  at  least,  to  the  right  of  independence  and  free 
agency.  With  all  the  innocence  and  goodness  of  disposi- 
tion, therefore,  which  we  have  described,  the  Lily  of  St. 
Leonard's  possessed  a  little  fund  of  self-conceit  and 
obstinacy,  and  some  warmth  and  irritability  of  temper, 
partly  natural  perhaps,  but  certainly  much  increased  by 
the  unrestrained  freedom  of  her  childhood.  Her  char- 
acter will  be  best  illustrated  by  a  cottage  evening  scene. 

The  careful  father  was  absent  in  his  well-stocked  byre, 
foddering  those  useful  and  patient  animals  on  whose 
produce  his  living  depended,  and  the  summer  evening  was 
beginning  to  close  in,  when  Jeanie  Deans  began  to  be 
very  anxious  for  the  appearance  of  her  sister,  and  to 
fear  that  she  would  not  reach  home  before  her  father 
returned  from  the  labor  of  the  evening,  when  it  was  his 
custom  to  have  "family  exercise,"  and  when  she  knew 
that  Effie's  absence  would  give  him  the  most  serious  dis- 
pleasure. These  apprehensions  hung  heavier  upon  her 
mind,  because,  for  several  preceding  evenings,  Effie  had 
disappeared  about  the  same  time,  and  her  stay,  at  first  so 
brief  as  scarce  to  be  noticed,  had  been  gradually  pro- 
tracted to  half-an-hour,  and  an  hour,  and  on  the  present 
occasion  had  considerably  exceeded  even  this  last  limit. 
And  now,  Jeanie  stood  at  the  door,  with  her  hand  before 
her  eyes  to  avoid  the  rays  of  the  level  sun,  and  looked 
alternately  along  the  various  tracks  which  led  toward  their 
dwelling,  to  see  if  she  could  descry  the  nymph-like  form 
of  her  sister.  There  was  a  wall  and  a  stile  which  sepa- 
rated the  royal  domain,  or  King's  Park,  as  it  is  called, 
from  the  public  road ;  to  this  pass  she  frequently  directed 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  127 

her  attention,  when  she  saw  two  persons  appear  there 
somewhat  suddenly,  as  if  they  had  walked  close  by  the 
side  of  the  wall  to  screen  themselves  froni  observation. 
One  of  them,  a  man,  drew  back  hastily;  the  other,  a 
female,  crossed  the  stile,  and  advanced  toward  her — it  was 
Effie.  She  met  her  sister  with  that  affected  liveliness  of 
manner,  which,  in  her  rank,  and  sometimes  in  those  above 
it,  females  occasionally  assume  to  hide  surprise  or  con- 
fusion; and  she  carolled  as  she  came — 

"The  elfin  knight  sate  on  the  brae. 

The  broom  grows  bonny,  the  broom  grows  fair; 
And  by  there  came  lilting  a  lady  so  gay. 

And  we  daurna  gang  down  to  the  broom  nae  mair." 

"Whisht,  Effie,"  said  her  sister;  "our  father's  coming 
out  o'  the  byre." — The  damsel  stinted  in  her  song. — 
"Whare  hae  ye  been  sae  late  at  e'en?" 

"It's  no  late,  lass,"  answered  Effie. 

"It's  chappit  eight  on  every  clock  o'  the  town,  and  the 
sun's  gaun  down  ahint  the  CorstoriDhine  hills — Whare  can 
ye  hae  been  sae  late?"  . 

"Nae  gate,"  answered  Effie. 

"And  wha  was  that  parted  wi'  you  at  the  stile?" 

"Naebody,"  replied  Effie,  once  more. 

"Nae  gate? — Naebody? — I  wish  it  may  be  a  right  gate, 
and  a  right  body,  that  keeps  folk  out  sae  late  at  e'en, 
Effie." 

"What  needs  ye  be  aye  speering  then  at  folk?"  retorted 
Effie.  "I'm  sure,  if  ye'll  ask  nae  questions,  I'll  tell  ye  nae 
lees.  I  never  ask  what  brings  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes 
glowering  here  like  a  wull-cat  (only  his  een's  greener, 
and  no  sae  gleg),  day  after  day,  till  we  are  a'  like  to  gaunt 
our  chafts  atf." 

"Because  ye  ken  very  weel  he  comes  to  see  our  father," 
said  Jeanie,  in  answer  to  this  pert  remark. 

"And  Dominie  Butler — Does  he  come  to  see  our  father, 
that's  sae  taen  wi'  his  Latin  words?"  said  Effie,  delighted 
to  find  that,  by  carrying  the  war  into  the  enemy's  country, 
she  could  divert  the  threatened  attack  upon  herself,  and 
with  the  petulance  of  youth  she  pursued  her  triumiih  over 
her  prudent  elder  sister.     She  looked  at  her  with   a   sly 


128  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

air,  in  which  there  was  something  like  irony,  as  she 
chanted,  in  a  low  but  marked  tone,  a  scrap  of  an  old 
Scotch  song — 

"Through  the  kirkyard 
I  met  wi'  the  Laird, 

The  silly  puir  body  he  said  me  nae  harm; 
But  just  ere  'twas  dark, 
I  met  wi'  the  clerk " 

Here  the  songstress  stopped,  looked  full  at  her  sister, 
and,  observing  the  tear  gather  in  her  eyes,  she  suddenly 
flung  her  arms  round  her  neck,  and  kissed  them  away. 
Jeanie,  though  hurt  and  displeased,  was  unable  to  resist 
the  caresses  of  this  untaught  child  of  nature,  whose  good 
and  evil  seemed  to  flow  rather  from  impulse  than  from 
reflection.  But  as  she  returned  the  sisterly  kiss,  in  token 
of  perfect  reconciliation,  she  could  not  suppress  the  gentle 
reproof — "Effie,  if  ye  will  learn  fule  sangs,  ye  might  make 
a  kinder  use  of  them." 

''And  so  I  might,  Jeanie,"  continued  the  girl,  clinging 
to  her  sister's  neck;  "and  I  wish  I  had  never  learned  ane 
o'  them — and  I  wish  we  had  never  come  here — and  I  wish 
my  tongue  had  been  blistered  or  I  had  vexed  ye." 

"Never  mind  that,  Effie,"  replied  the  affectionate 
sister;  'T  canna  be  muckle  vexed  wi'  onything  ye  say  to 
me — but  oh,  dinna  vex  our  father!" 

"I  will  not — I  will  not,"  replied  Effie;  "and  if  there 
were  as  mony  dances  the  morn's  night  as  there  are  merry 
dancers  in  the  north  firmament  on  a  frosty  e'en,  I  winna 
budge  an  inch  to  gang  near  ane  o'  them." 

''Dance?"  echoed  Jeanie  Deans  in  astonishment.  "O 
Effie,  what. could  take  ye  to  a  dance?" 

It  is  very  possible,  that,  in  the  communicative  mood 
into  which  the  Lily  of  St.  Leonard's  was  now  surprised, 
she  might  have  given  her  sister  her  unreserved  confidence, 
and  saved  me  the  pain  of  telling  a  melancholy  tale;  but 
at  the  moment  the  word  dance  was  uttered,  'it  reached  the 
ear  of  old  Da^id  Deans,  who  had  turned  the  corner  of  the 
house,  and  came  upon  his  daughters  ere  they  were  aware 
of  his  presence.  The  word  prelate^,  or  even  the  word  pope, 
could  hardly  have  produced  so  appalling  an  effect  upon 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  129 

David's  ear;  for,  of  all  exercises,  that  of  dancing,  whicli 
ho  termed  a  voluntary  and  regular  fit  of  distraction,  he 
deemed  most  destructive  of  serious  thoughts,  and  the 
readiest  inlet  to  all  sort  of  licentiousness;  and  he  ac- 
counted the  encouraging,  and  even  permitting,  assemblies 
or  meetings,  whether  among  those  of  high  or  low  degree, 
for  this  fantastic  and  absurd  purpose,  or  for  that  of 
dramatic  representations,  as  one  of  the  most  flagrant 
proofs  of  defection  and  causes  of  wrath.  The  pronouncing 
of  the  word  dance  by  his  own  daughters,  and  at  his  own 
door,  now  drove  him  beyond  the  verge  of  patience. 
"Dance!''  he  exclaimed.  "Dance! — dance,  said  ye?  I 
daur  ye,  limmers  that  ye  are,  to  name  sic  a  word  at  my 
door  cheek!  It's  a  dissolute  profane  pastime,  practised 
by  the  Israelites  only  at  their  base  and  brutal  worship  of 
the  Golden  Calf  at  Bethel,  and  by  the  unhappy  lass  wha 
danced  aff  the  head  of  John  the  Baptist,  upon  whilk 
chapter  I  will  exercise  this  night  for  your  farther  instruc- 
tion, since  j'e  need  it  sae  muckle,  nothing  doubting  that 
she  has  cause  to  rue  the  day,  lang  or  this  time,  that  e'er 
she  suld  hae  shook  a  limb  on  sic  an  errand.  Better  for 
her  to  hae  been  born  a  cripple,  and  carried  frae  door  to 
door,  like  auld  Bessie  Bowie,  begging  bawbees,  than  to  be 
a  king's  daughter,  fiddling  and  flinging  the  gate  she  did. 
I  hae  often  wondered  that  ony  ane  that  ever  bent  a  knee 
for  the  right  purpose,  should  ever  daur  to  crook  a  hough  . 
to  fyke  and  fling  at  piper's  wind  and  fiddler's  squealing. 
And  I  bless  God  (with  that  singular  \yorthy,  Peter  Walker 
the  packman  at  Bristo  Port*),  that  ordered  my  lot  in  my 
dancing  days,  so  that  fear  of  my  head  and  throat,  dread 
of  bloody  rope  and  swift  bullet,  and  trenchant  swords  and 
pain  of  boots  and  thumbkins,  cauld  and  hunger,  wetness 
and  weariness,  stopped  the  lightness  of  my  head,  and  the 
wantonness  of  my  feet.  And  now,  if  I  hear  ye,  quean 
lassies,  sae  muckle  as  name  dancing,  or  think  there's  sic  * 
a  thing  in  this  warld  as  flinging  to  fiddler's  sounds  and 
piper's  springs,  as  sure  as  my  father's  spirit  is  with  the 
just,  ye  shall  be  no  more  either  charge  or  concern  of  mine! 
Gang  in,  then — gang  in,  then,  hinnies,"  he  added,  in  a 
softer  tone,  for  the  tears  of  both  daughters,  but  especially 

*  Note  III. — Peter  Walker. 


130  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

those  of  Effie,  began  to  flow  very  fast, — "Gang  in,  dears, 
and  we'll  seek  grace  to  preserve  us  frae  all  manner  of 
profane  folly,  whilk  causeth  to  sin,  and  promoteth  the 
kingdom  of  darkness,  warring  with  the  kingdom  of  light." 

The  objurgation  of  David  Deans,  however  well  meant, 
was  unhappily  timed.  It  created  a  division  of  feelings 
in  Effie's  bosom,  and  deterred  her  from  her  intended  confi- 
dence in  her  sister.  "She  wad  haud  me  nae  better  than 
the  dirt  below  her  feet,"  said  Effie  to  herself,  "were  I  to 
confess  I  hae  danced  wi'  him  four  times  on  the  green 
down  by,  and  ance  at  Maggie  Macqueen's ;  and  she'll  may- 
be hing  it  ower  my  head  that  she'll  tell  my  father,  and 
then  she  wad  be  mistress  and  mair.  But  I'll  no  gang  back 
there  again.  I'm  resolved  I'll  no  gang  back.  I'll  lay  in 
a  leaf  of  my  Bible,"^  and  that's  very  near  as  if  I  had 
made  an  aith,  that  I  winna  gang  back."  And  she  kept 
her  vow  for  a  week,  during  which  she  was  unusually  cross 
and  fretful,  blemishes  which  had  never  before  been  ob- 
served in  her  temper,  except  during  a  moment  of  contra- 
diction. 

There  was  something  in  all  this  so  mysterious  as  con- 
siderably to  alarm  the  prudent  and  affectionate  Jeanie, 
the  more  so  as  she  judged  it  unkind  to  her  sister  to  men- 
tion to  their  father  grounds  of  anxiety  which  might  arise 
from  her  own  imagination.  Besides,  her  respect  for  the 
good  old  man  did  not  prevent  her  from  being  aware  that 
he  was  both  hot-tempered  and  positive,  and  she  sometimes 
suspected  that  he  carried  his  dislike  to  youthful  amuse- 
ments beyond  the  verge  that  religion  and  reason  de- 
manded. Jeanie  had  sense  enough  to  see  that  a  sudden 
and  severe  curb  upon  her  sister's  hitherto  unrestrained 
freedom  might  be  rather  productive  of  harm  than  good, 
and  that  Effie,  in  the  headstrong  wilfulness  of  youth,  was 
likely  to  make  what  might  be  overstrained  in  her  father's 
precepts  an  excuse  to  herself  for  neglecting  them  alto- 
gether. In  the  higher  classes,  ^a  damsel,  however  giddy,  is 
still  under  the  dominion  of  etiquette,  and  subject  to  the 
surveillance  of  mammas  and  chaperons;  but  the  country 
girl,  who  snatches  her  moment  of  gaiety  during  the  inter- 

*  This  custom,  of  making  a  mark  by  folding  a  leaf  in  the  party's 
Bible  when  a  solemn  resolution  is  formed,  is  still  held  to  be,  in  some 
sense,    an  appeal   to   Heaven   for   his   or   her   sincerity. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAX  131 

vals  of  labor,  is  under  no  such  guardianship  or  restraint, 
and  her  amusement  becomes  so  much  the  more  hazardous. 
Jeanie  saw  all  this  with  much  distress  of  mind,  when  a 
circumstance  occurred  which  appeared  calculated  to  re- 
lieve her  anxiety. 

Mrs.  Saddletree,  with  whom  our  readers  have  already 
been  made  acquainted,  chanced  to  be  a  distant  relation  of 
Douce  David  Deans,  and  as  she  was  a  woman  orderly  in 
her  life  and  conversation,  and,  moreover,  of  good  sub- 
stance, a  sort  of  acquaintance  was  formally  kept  up 
between  the  families.  Xow,  this  careful  dame,  about  a 
year  and  a  half  before  our  story  commences,  chanced  to 
need,  in  the  line  of  her  profession,  a  better  sort  of  servant, 
or  rather  shop-woman.  "Mr.  Saddletree,"  she  said,  "was 
never  in  the  shop  when  he  could  get  his  nose  within  the 
Parliament  House,  and  it  was  an  awkward  thimr  for  a 
woman-body  to  be  standing  among  bundles  o'  barkened 
leather  her  lane,  selling  saddles  and  bridles;  and  she  had 
cast  her  eyes  upon  her  far-awa  cousin  Effie  Deans,  as  just 
the  very  sort  of  lassie  she  would  want  to  keep  her  in 
countenance  on  such  occasions." 

In  this  proposal  there  was  much  that  pleased  old  David, 
— there  was  bed,  board,  and  bountith — it  was  a  decent 
situation — the  lassie  would  be  under  Mrs.  Saddletree's 
eye,  who  had  an  upright  walk,  and  lived  close  by  the  Tol- 
booth  Kirk,  in  which  might  still  be  heard  the  comforting 
doctrines  of  one  of  those  few  ministers  of  the  Kirk  of 
Scotland  who  had  not  bent  the  knee  unto  Baal,  according 
to  David's  expression,  or  become  accessory  to  the  course  of 
natural  defections, — union,  toleration,  patronages,  and  a 
bundle  of  prelatical  Erastian  oaths  which  had  been  im- 
posed on  the  Church  since  the  Revolution,  and  particu- 
larly in  the  reign  of  "the  late  woman"  (as  he  called 
Queen  Anne),  the  last  of  that  unhappy  race  of  Stuarts. 
In  the  good  man's  security  concerning  the  soundness  of 
the  theological  doctrine  which  his  daughter  was  to  hear, 
he  was  nothing  disturbed  on  account  of  the  snares  of  a 
different  kind,  to  which  a  creature  so  beautiful,  young, 
and  wilful,  might  be  exposed  in  the  centre  of  a  populous 
and  corrupted  city.  The  fact  is,  that  he  thought  with  so 
much  horror  on  all  approaches  to  irregularities  of  the 
nature  most  to  be  dreaded  in  such  cases,  that  he  would  as 


132  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

soon  have  suspected  and  guarded  against  Effie's  being  in- 
duced to  become  guilty  of  the  crime  of  murder.  He  only 
regretted  that  she  should  live  under  the  same  roof  with 
such  a  worldly-wise  man  as  Bartoline  Saddletree,  whom 
David  never  suspected  of  being  an  ass  as  he  was,  but 
considered  as  one  really  endowed  with  all  the  legal  knowl- 
edge to  which  he  made  pretension,  and  only  liked  him 
the  worse  for  possessing  it.  The  lawyers,  especially  those 
amongst  them  who  sate  as  ruling  elders  in  the  General 
Assembly  of  the  Kirk,  had  been  forward  in  promoting  the 
measures  of  patronage,  of  the  abjuration  oath,  and  others, 
which,  in  the  opinion  of  David  Deans,  were  a  breaking 
down  of  the  carved  work  of  the  sanctuary,  and  an  in- 
trusion upon  the  liberties  of  the  kirk.  Upon  the  dangers 
of  listening  to  the  doctrines  of  a  legalized  formalist,  such 
as  Saddletree,  David  gave  his  daughter  many  lectures;  so 
much  so,  that  he  had  time  to  touch  but  slightly  on  the 
dangers  of  chambering,  company-keeping,  and  promiscu- 
ous dancing,  to  which,  at  her  time  of  life,  most  people 
would  have  thought  Effie  more  exposed,  than  to  the  risk 
of  theoretical  error  in  her  religious  faith. 

Jeanie  parted  from  her  sister,  with  a  mixed  feeling  of 
regret,  and  apprehension,  and  hope.  She  could  not  be  so 
confident  concerning  Effie's  prudence  as  her  father,  for  she 
had  observed  her  more  narrowly,  had  more  sympathy  with 
her  feelings,  and  could  better  estimate  the  temptations  to 
which  she  was  exposed.  On  the  other  hand,  Mrs.  Saddle- 
tree was  an  observing,  shrewd,  notable  woman,  entitled  to 
exercise  over  Effie  the  full  authority  of  a  mistress,  and 
likely  to  do  so  strictly,  yet  with  kindness.  Her  removal 
to  Saddletree's,  it  was  most  probable,  would  also  serve  to 
break  off  some  idle  acquaintances,  which  Jeanie  suspected 
her  sister  to  have  formed  in  the  neighboring  suburb. 
Upon  the  whole,  then,  she  viewed  her  departure  from 
Saint  Leonard's  with  pleasure,  and  it  was  not  until  the 
very  moment  of  their  parting  for  the  first  time  in  their 
lives,  that  she  felt  the  full  force  of  sisterly  sorrow.  While 
they  repeatedly  kissed  each  other's  cheeks,  and  wrung 
each  other's  hands,  Jeanie  took  that  moment  of  affection- 
ate sympathy,  to  press  upon  her  sister  the  necessity  of 
the  utmost  caution  in  her  conduct  while  residing  in  Edin- 
burgh.   Effie  listened,  without  once  raising  her  large  dark 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  133 

eyelashes,  from  which  the  drops  fell  so  fast  as  almost 
to  resemble  a  fountain.  At  the  conclusion  she  sobbed 
again,  kissed  her  sister,  promised  to  recollect  all  the  good 
counsel  she  had  given  her.  and  they  parted. 

During  the  first  few  weeks,  Effie  was  all  that  her  kins- 
woman expected,  and  even  more.  But  with  time  there 
came  a  relaxation  of  that  early  zeal  which  she  manifested 
in  Mrs.  Saddletree's  service.  To  borrow  once  again  from 
the  poet,  who  so  correctly  and  beautifully  describes  living 
manners, — 

"Something  there  was. — what,  none  presumed  to  say,— 
Clouds  lightly  passing  on  a  summer's  day ; 
Whispers  and  hints,  which  went  from  ear  to  ear, 
And  mix'd  reports  no  judge  on  earth  could  clear." 

During  this  interval,  Mrs.  Saddletree  was  sometimes 
displeased  by  Effie's  lingering  when  she  was  sent  upon 
errands  about  the  shop  business,  and  sometimes  by  a  little 
degree  of  impatience  which  she  manifested  at  being  re- 
buked on  such  occasions.  But  she  good-naturedly  allowed, 
that  the  first  was  very  natural  to  a  girl  to  whom  every- 
thing in  Edinburgh  was  new,  and  the  other  was  only  the 
petulance  of  a  spoiled  child,  when  subjected  to  the  yoke 
of  domestic  discipline  for  the  first  time.  Attention  and 
submission  could  not  be  learned  at  once — Holyrood  was 
not  built  in  a  day — use  would  make  perfect. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  considerate  old  lady  had  presaged 
truly.  Ere  many  months  had  passed,  Effie  became  almost 
wedded  to  her  duties,  though  she  no  longer  discharged 
them  with  the  laughing  cheek  and  light  step,  which  at 
first  had  attracted  every  customer.  Her  mistress  some- 
times observed  her  in  tears,  but  they  were  signs  of  secret 
sorrow,  which  she  concealed  as  often  as  she  saw  them 
attract  notice.  Time  wore  on,  her  cheek  grew  pale,  and 
her  step  heavy.  The  cause  of  these  changes  could  not 
have  escaped  the  matronly  eye  of  Mrs.  Saddletree,  but 
she  was  chiefly  confined  by  indisposition  to  her  bedroom 
for  a  considerable  time  during  the  latter  part  of  Effie's 
service.  This  inten-al  was  marked  by  symptoms  of 
anguish  almost  amounting  to  despair.  The  utmost  efi^orts 
of  the  poor  girl  to  command  her  fits  of  hysterical  agony 


134  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

were  often  totally  unavailing,  and  the  mistakes  wiiicli 
she  made  in  the  shop  the  while  were  so  numerous  and  so 
provoking,  that  Bartoline  Saddletree,  who,  during  his 
wife's  illness,  was  obliged  to  take  closer  charge  of  the 
business  than  consisted  with  his  study  of  the  weightier 
matters  of  the  law,  lost  all  patience  with  the  girl,  who,  in 
his  law  Latin,  and  without  much  respect  to  gender,  he 
declared  ought  to  be  cognosced  by  inquest  of  a  jury,  as 
fatuus,  fiiriosus,  and  naturaliter  icliota.  Neighbors,  also, 
and  fellow-servants,  remarked,  with  malicious  curiosity 
or  degrading  pity,  the  disfigured  shape,  loose  dress,  and 
pale  cheeks,  of  the  once  beautiful  and  still  interesting 
girl.  But  to  no  one  would  she  grant  her  confidence,  an- 
swering all  taunts  with  bitter  sarcasm,  and  all  serious  ex- 
postulation with  sullen  denial,  or  with  floods  of  tears. 

At  length,  when  Mrs.  Saddletree's  recovery  was  likely 
to  permit  her  wonted  attention  to  the  regulation  of  her 
household,  Effie  Deans,  as  if  unwilling  to  face  an  investi- 
gation made  by  the  authority  of  her  mistress,  asked  per- 
mission of  Bartoline  to  go  home  for  a  week  or  two, 
assigning  indisposition,  and  the  wish  of  trying  the  benefit 
of  repose  and  the  change  of  air,  as  the  motives  of  her 
request.  Sharp-eyed  as  a  lynx  (or  conceiving  himself  to 
be  so)  in  the  nice  sharp  quillits  of  legal  discussion,  Barto- 
line was  as  dull  at  drawing  inferences  from  the  occur- 
rences of  common  life  as  any  Dutch  professor  of 
mathematics.  He  suffered  Effie  to  depart  without  much 
suspicion,  and  without  any  inquiry. 

It  was  afterward  found  that  a  period  of  a  week  inter- 
vened betwixt  her  leaving  her  master's  house  and  arriving 
at  St.  Leonard's.  She  made  her  appearance  before  her 
sister  in  a  state  rather  resembling  the  spectre  than  the 
living  substance  of  the  gay  and  beautiful  girl,  who  had 
left  her  father's  cottage  for  the  first  time  scarce  seventeen 
months  before.  The  lingering  illness  of  her  mistress  had, 
for  the  last  few  months,  given  her  a  plea  for  confining 
herself  entirely  to  the  dusky  precincts  of  the  shop  in  the 
Lawnmarket,  and  Jeanie  was  so  much  occupied,  during 
the  same  period,  with  the  concerns  of  her  father's  house- 
hold, that  she  had  rarely  found  leisure  for  a  walk  into 
the  city,  and  a  brief  and  hurried  visit  to  her  sister.  The 
young  women,  therefore,  had  scarcely  seen  each  other  for 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  135 

several  months,  nor  had  a  single  scandalous  surmise 
reached  the  ears  of  the  secluded  inhabitants  of  the  cot- 
tage at  St.  Leonard's.  Jcanie,  therefore,  terrified  to 
death  at  her  sister's  appearance,  at  lirst  overwhelmed  her 
with  inquiries,  to  which  the  unfortunate  young  woman 
returned  for  a  time  incoherent  and  rambling  answers,  and 
finally  fell  into  a  hysterical  fit.  Rendered  too  certain  of 
her  sister's  misfortune,  Jeanie  had  now  the  dreadful 
alternative  of  communicating  her  ruin  to  her  father,  or 
of  endeavoring  to  conceal  it  from  him.  To  all  questions 
concerning  the  name  or  rank  of  her  seducer,  and  the  fate 
of  the  being  to  whom  her  fall  had  given  birth,  Effie  re- 
mained mute  as  the  grave,  to  which  she  seemed  hastening; 
and  indeed  the  least  allusion  to  either  seemed  to  drive 
her  to  distraction.  Her  sister,  in  distress  and  in  despair, 
was  about  to  repair  to  Mrs.  Saddletree  to  consult  her  ex- 
perience, and  at  the  same  time  to  obtain  what  lights  she 
could  upon  this  most  unhappy  affair,  when  she  was  saved 
that  trouble  by  a  new  stroke  of  fate,  which  seemed  to 
carry  misfortune  to  the  uttermost. 

David  Deans  had  been  alarmed  at  the  state  of  health 
in  which  his  daughter  had  returned  to  her  paternal  resi- 
dence; but  Jeanie  had  contrived  to  divert  him  from 
particular  and  specific  inquiry.  It  was,  therefore,  like  a 
clap  of  thunder  to  the  poor  old  man,  w^hen,  just  as  the 
hour  of  noon  had  brought  the  visit  of  the  Laird  of 
Dumbiedikes  as  usual,  other  and  sterner,  as  well  as  most 
unexpected  guests,  arrived  at  the  cottage  of  St.  Leonard's. 
These  were  the  ofiicers  of  justice,  with  a  warrant  of| 
justiciary  to  search  for  and  apprehend  Euphemia,  or 
Efl5e,  Deans,  accused  of  the  crime  of  child-murder.  The 
stunning  weight  of  a  blow  so  totally  unexpected  bore 
down  the  old  man,  who  had  in  his  early  youth  resisted 
the  brow  of  military  and  civil  tyranny,  though  backed 
with  swords  and  guns,  tortures  and  gibbets.  He  fell 
extended  and  senseless  upon  his  own  hearth ;  and  the  men, 
happy  to  escape  from  the  scene  of  his  awakening,  raised, 
with  rude  humanity,  the  object  of  their  warrant  from  her 
bed,  and  placed  her  in  a  coach,  which  they  had  brought 
with  them.  The  hasty  remedies  which  Jeanie  had  applied 
to  bring  back  her  father's  senses  were  scarce  begun  to 
operate,  when  the  noise  of  the  wheels  in  motion  recalled 


136  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

her  attention  to  her  miserable  sister.  To  run  shrieking 
after  the  carriage  was  the  first  vain  effort  of  her  distrac- 
tion, but  she  was  stopped  by  one  or  two  female  neighbors, 
assembled  by  the  extraordinary  appearance  of  a  coach  in 
that  sequestered  place,  who  almost  forced  her  back  to  her 
father's  house.  The  deep  and  sympathetic  affliction  of 
these  poor  people,  by  whom  the  little  family  at  St. 
Leonard's  were  held  in  high  regard,  filled  the  house  with 
lamentation.  Even  Dumbiedikes  was  moved  from  his 
wonted  apathy,  and,  groping  for  his  purse  as  he  spoke, 
ejaculated,  "Jeanie,  woman! — Jeanie,  woman!  dinna 
greet — it's  sad  wark,  but  siller  will  help  it;"  and  he  drew 
out  his  purse  as  he  spoke. 

The  old  man  had  now  raised  himself  from  the  ground, 
and,  looking  about  him  as  if  he  missed  something,  seemed 
gradually  to  recover  the  sense  of  his  wretchedness. 
^'Where,"  he  said,  with  a  voice  that  made  the  roof  ring, 
"where  is  the  vile  harlot,  that  has  disgraced  the  blood  of 
an  honest  man? — ^Where  is  she,  that  has  no  place  among 
us,  but  has  come  foul  with  her  sins,  like  the  Evil  One, 
among  the  children  of  God? — Where  is  she,  Jeanie? — 
Bring  her  before  me,  that  I  may  kill  her  with  a  word  and 
a  look!" 

All  hastened  around  him  with  their  appropriate  sources 
of  consolation — the  Laird  with  his  purse,  Jeanie  with 
burned  feathers  and  strong  waters,  and  the  women  with 
their  exhortations.  "0  neighbor — 0  Mr.  Deans,  it's  a 
sair  trial,  doubtless — but  think  of  the  Rock  of  Ages, 
neighbor — think  of  the  promise!" 

"And  I  do  think  of  it,  neighbors — and  I  bless  God  that 
I  can  think  of  it,  even  in  the  rack  and  ruin  of  a'  that's 
nearest  and  dearest  to  me. — But  to  be  the  father  of  a 
castaway  —  a  profligate  —  a  bloody  Zipporah  —  a  mere 
murderess! — Oh,  how  will  the  wicked  exult  in  the  high 
places  of  their  wickedness ! — the  prelatists,  and  the  lati- 
tudinarians,  and  the  hand-waled  murderers,  whose  hands 
are  hard  as  horn  wi'  handing  the  slaughter-weapons — they 
will  push  out  the  lip,  and  say  that '  we  are  even  such  as 
themselves.  Sair,  sair  I  am  grieved,  neighbors,  for  the 
poor  castaway — for  the  child  of  mine  old  age — but  sairer 
for  the  stumbling-block  and  scandal  it  will  be  to  all 
tender  and  honest  souls  !'^ 


THE   HEART    OF    :\I ID-LOTHIAN  137 

*'Davie — winna  siller  do't?"  insinuated  the  Laird,  still 
proffering:  his  green  purse,  which  was  full  of  guineas. 

"1  tell  ye,  Dumbiedikos,"  said  Deans,  "that  if  telling 
dovni  my  haill  substance  could  hae  saved  her  frae  this 
black  snare,  I  wad  hae  walked  out  wi'  naething  but  my 
bonnet  and  my  staff  to  beg  an  awmous  for  God's  sake, 
and  ca'd  mysell  an  happy  man — But  if  a  dollar,  or  a  plack, 
or  the  nineteenth  part  of  a  boddle,  wad  save  her  open 
guilt  and  open  shame  frae  open  punishment,  that  purchase 
wad  David  Deans  never  make ! — Na,  na ;  an  eye  for  an 
eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,  life  for  life,  blood  for  blood — 
it's  the  law  of  man,  and  it's  the  law  of  God. — Leave  me, 
sirs — leave  me — I  maun  warstle  wi'  this  trial  in  privacy 
and  on  my  knees." 

Jeanie,  now  in  some  degree  restored  to  the  power  of 
thought,  joined  in  the  same  request.  The  next  day  found 
the  father  and  daughter  still  in  the  depth  of  affliction, 
but  the  father  sternly  supporting  his  load  of  ill  through  a 
proud  sense  of  religious  duty,  and  the  daughter  anxiously 
suppressing  her  own  feelings  to  avoid  again  awakening 
his.  Thus  was  it  with  the  afflicted  family  until  the 
morning  after  Porteous's  death,  a  period  at  which  we  are 
iiow  arrived. 


CHAPTER   XI 

Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two  have  shared, 
The  sisters'  vows  the  hours  that  we  have  spent 
When  we  have  chid  the  hasty-footed  time 
For  parting  us — Oh!  and  is  all  forgot? 

Midsummer   Night's  Dream. 

We  have  been  a  long  while  in  conducting  Butler  to  the 
door  of  the  cottage  at  St.  Leonard's;  yet  the  space  which 
we  have  occupied  in  the  preceding  narrative  does  not 
exceed  in  length  that  which  he  actually  spent  on  Salis- 
bury Crags  on  the  morning  which  succeeded  the  execution 
done  upon  Porteous  by  the  rioters.  For  this  delay  he 
had  his  own  motives.  He  wished  to  collect  his  thoughts, 
strangely  agitated  as  they  were,  first  by  the  melancholy 
news  of  Effie  Deans's  situation,  and  afterward  by  the 
frightful  scene  which  ho  had  witnessed.  In  the  situation 
also   in   which  he  stood   with   respect  to  Jeanie  and   her 


138  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

father,  some  ceremony,  at  least  some  choice  of  fitting 
time  and  season,  was  necessary  to  wait  upon  them.  Eight 
in  the  morning  was  then  the  ordinary  hour  for  breakfast, 
and  he  resolved  that  it  should  arrive  before  he  made  his 
appearance  in  their  cottage. 

Never  did  hours  pass  so  heavily.  Butler  shifted  his 
place  and  enlarged  his  circle  to  while  away  the  time,  and 
heard  the  huge  bell  of  St.  Giles's  toll  each  successive 
hour  in  swelling  tones,  which  were  instantly  attested  by 
those  of  the  other  steeples  in  succession.  He  had  heard 
seven  struck  in  this  manner,  when  he  began  to  think  he 
might  venture  to  approach  nearer  to  St.  Leonard's,  from 
which  he  was  still  a  mile  distant.  Accordingly  he  de- 
scended from  his  lofty  station  as  low  as  the  bottom  of 
the  valley  which  divides  Salisbury  Crags  from  those 
small  rocks  which  take  their  name  from  Saint  Leonard. 
It  is,  as  many  of  my  readers  may  know,  a  deep,  wild, 
grassy  valley,  scattered  with  huge  rocks  and  fragments 
which  have  descended  from  the  cliffs  and  steep  ascent  to 
the  east. 

This  sequestered  dell,  as  well  as  other  places  of  the 
open  pasturage  of  the  King's  Park,  was,  about  this  time, 
often  the  resort  of  the  gallants  of  the  time  who  had 
affairs  of  honor  to  discuss  with  the  sword.  Duels  were 
then  very  common  in  Scotland,  for  the  gentry  were  at 
once  idle,  haughtyj  fierce,  divided  by  faction,  and  addicted 
to  intemperance,  so  that  there  lacked  neither  provocation, 
nor  inclination  to  resent  it  when  given;  and  the  sword, 
which  was  part  of  every  gentleman's  dress,  was  the  only 
weapon  used  for  the  decision  of  such  differences.  When, 
therefore,  Butler  observed  a  young  man,  skulking,  ap- 
parently to  avoid  observation,  among  the  scattered  rocks 
at  some  distance  from  the  footpath,  he  was  naturally  led 
to  suppose  that  he  had  sought  this  lonely  spot  upon  that 
evil  errand.  He  was  so  strongly  impressed  with  this,  that, 
notwithstanding  his  own  distress  of  mind,  he  could  not, 
according  to  his  sense  of  duty  as  a  clergyman,  pass  this 
person  without  speaking  to  him.  There  are  times,  thought 
he  to  himself,  when  the  slightest  interference  may  avert 
a  great  calamity — when  a  word  spoken  in  season  may  do 
more  for  prevention  than  the  eloquence  of  Tully  could 
do  for  remedying  evil — And  for  my  own  griefs,  be  they 


THE    HEART    OE    MlD-LUTlllAX  130 

as  they  may,  I  shall  feel  them  the  lighter,  if  they  divert 
me  not  from  the  prosecution  of  my  duty. 

Thus  thinking  and  feeling,  he  quitted  the  ordinary 
path,  and  advanced  nearer  the  object  he  had  noticed.  The 
man  at  first  directed  his  course  toward  the  hill,  in  order, 
as  it  appeared,  to  avoid  him;  but  when  he  saw  that  Butler 
seemed  disposed  to  follow  liim,  he  adjusted  his  hat  fiercely, 
turned  round,  and  came  forward,  as  if  to  meet  and  defy 
scrutiny. 

Butler  had  an  opportunity  of  accurately  studyinir  his 
features  as  they  advanced  slowly  to  meet  each  other. 
The  stranger  seemed  about  twenty-five  years  old.  His 
dress  was  of  a  kind  which  could  hardly  be  said  to  indicate 
his  rank  with  certainty,  for  it  was  such  as  young  gentle- 
men sometimes  wore  while  on  active  exercise  in  the 
morning,  and  which,  therefore,  was  imitated  by  those  of 
the  inferior  ranks,  as  young  clerks  and  tradesmen,  be- 
cause its  cheapness  rendered  it  attainable,  while  it 
approached  more  nearly  to  the  apparel  of  youths  of 
fashron  than  any  other  which  the  manners  of  the  times 
permitted  them  to  wear.  If  his  air  and  manner  could  be 
trusted,  however,  this  person  seemed  rather  to  be  dressed 
under  than  above  his  rank;  for  his  carriage  was  bold  and 
somewhat  supercilious,  his  step  easy  and  free,  his  manner 
daring  and  unconstrained.  His  stature  was  of  the  middle 
size,  or  rather  above  it,  his  limbs  well-proportioned,  yet 
not  so  strong  as  to  infer  the  reproach  of  clumsiness.  His 
features  were  uncommonly  handsome,  and  all  about  him 
would  have  been  interesting  and  prepossessing,  but  for 
that  indescribable  expression  which  habitual  dissipation 
gives  to  the  countenance,  joined  with  a  certain  audacity 
in  look  and  manner,  of  that  kind  which  is  often  assumed 
as  a  mask  for  confusion  and  apprehension. 

Butler  and  the  stranger  met — surveyed  each  other — 
when,  as  the  latter,  slightly  touching  his  hat,  was  about  to 
pass  by  him,  Butler,  while  he  returned  the  salutation, 
observed,  "A  fine  morning,  sir — You  are  on  the  hill 
early." 

'T  have  business  here,"  said  the  young  man,  in  a  tone 
meant  to  repress  farther  inquiry. 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,  sir,"  said  Butler.  ''T  trust  you  will 
forgive  my  hoping  that  it  is  of  a  lawful  kind?" 


140  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

"Sir,"  said  the  other,  with  marked  surprise,  "I  never 
forgive  impertinence,  nor  can  I  conceive  what  title  you 
have  to  hope  anything  about  what  no  way  concerns  you." 

"I  am  a  soldier,  sir,"  said  Butler,  "and  have  a  charge  to 
arrest  evil-doers  in  the  name  of  my  Master." 

"A  soldier?"  said  the  young  man,  stepping  back,  and 
fiercely  laying  his  hand  on  his  sword — "A  soldier,  and 
arrest  me?  Did  you  reckon  what  your  life  was  worth, 
before  you  took  the  commission  upon  you?" 

"You  mistake  me,  sir,"  said  Butler  gravely;  "neither 
my  warfare  nor  my  warrant  are  of  this  world.  I  am  a 
preacher  of  the  gospel,  and  have  power,  in  my  Master's 
name,  to  command  the  peace  upon  earth  and  good-will 
toward  men,  which  was  proclaimed  with  the  gospel." 

"A  minister!"  said  the  stranger  carelessly,  and  with  an 
expression  approaching  to  scorn.  "I  know  the  gentlemen 
of  your  cloth  in  Scotland  claim  a  strange  right  of  inter- 
meddling with  men's  private  affairs.  But  I  have  been 
abroad,  and  know  better  than  to  be  priest-ridden." 

"Sir,  if  it  be  true  that  any  of  my  cloth,  or,  it  might  be 
more  decently  said,  of  my  calling,  interfere  with  men's 
private  affairs,  for  the  gratification  either  of  idle  curiosity, 
or  for  worse  motives,  you  cannot  have  learned  a  better 
lesson  abroad  than  to  contemn  such  practices.  But,  in 
my  Master's  work,  I  am  called  to  be  busy  in  season  and 
out  of  season;  and,  conscious  as  I  am  of  a  pure  motive, 
it  were  better  for  me  to  incur  your  contempt  for  speaking, 
than  the  correction  of  my  own  conscience  for  being 
silent." 

"In  the  name  of  the  devil!"  said  the  young  man  im- 
patiently, "say  what  you  have  to  say,  then;  though  whom 
you  take  me  for,  or  what  earthly  concern  you  can  have 
with  me,  a  stranger  to  you,  or  with  my  actions  and 
motives,  of  which  you  can  know  nothing,  I  cannot  con- 
jecture for  an  instant." 

"You  are  about,"  said  Butler,  "to  violate  one  of  your 
country's  wisest  laws — you  are  about,  which  is  much 
more  dreadful,  to  violate  a  law,  which  God  Himself  has 
implanted  within  our  nature,  and  written,  as  it  were,  in 
the  table  of  our  hearts,  to  which  every  thrill  of  our  nerves 
is  responsive." 


THE    HEART    OF    :\IID-LOTTTTAX  141 

"And  what  is  the  law  you  speak  of?"  said  the  stranger, 
in  a  hollow  and  somewhat  disturbed  accent. 

^'Thou  shalt  do  uo  murder,"  said  Butler,  with  a  deep 
and  solemn  voice. 

The  young:  man  visibly  started,  and  looked  consider- 
ably appalled.  Butler  perceived  he  had  made  a  favorable 
imi>ression,  and  resolved  to  follow  it  up.  "Think,"  he 
said,  "young  man,"  laying  his  hand  kindly  upon  the 
stranger's  shoulder,  "what  an  awful  alternative  you 
voluntarily  choose  for  yourself,  to  kill  or  be  killed.  Think 
what  it  is  to  rush  uncalled  into  the  presence  of  an  oifended 
Deity,  your  heart  fermenting  with  evil  passions,  your 
hand  hot  from  the  steel  you  had  been  urging,  w^ith  your 
best  skill  and  malice,  against  the  breast  of  a  fellow- 
creature.  Or,  suppose  yourself  the  scarce  less  wretched 
survivor,  with  the  guilt  of  Cain,  the  first  murderer,  in 
your  heart,  with  his  stamp  upon  your  brow — that  stamp, 
which  struck  all  who  gazed  on  him  with  unutterable 
horror,  and  by  which  the  murderer  is  made  manifest  to 
all  who  look  upon  him.     Think " 

The  stranger  gradually  withdrew  himself  from  under 
the  hand  of  his  monitor;  and,  pulling  his  hat  over  his 
brows,  thus  interrupted  him.  "Your  meaning,  sir,  I  dare 
say,  is  excellent,  but  you  are  throwing  your  advice  away. 
I  am  not  in  this  place  with  violent  intentions  against  any 
one.  I  may  be  bad  enough — you  priests  say  all  men  are 
so — but  I  am  here  for  the  purpose  of  saving  life,  not  of 
taking  it  away.  If  you  wish  to  spend  your  time  rather 
in  doing  a  good  action  than  in  talking  about  you  know 
not  what,  I  will  give  you  an  opportunity.  Do  you  see 
yonder  crag  to  the  right,  over  which  appears  the  chimney 
of  a  lone  house?  Go  thither,  inquire  for  one  Jeanie 
Deans,  the  daughter  of  the  goodman;  let  her  know  that 
he  she  wots  of  remained  here  from  daybreak  till  this 
hour,  expecting  to  see  her,  and  that  he  can  abide  no 
longer.  Tell  her,  she  must  meet  me  at  the  Hunter's  Bog 
to-night,  as  the  moon  rises  behind  St.  Anthony's  Hill,  or 
that  she  will  make  a  desperate  man  of  me." 

"Who,  or  what  are  you,"  replied  Butler,  exceedingly 
and  most  unpleasantly  surprised,  "who  charge  me  with 
such  an  errand  ?" 

"I  am  the  devil! "  answered  the  young  man  liastily. 


142  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Butler  stepped  instinctively  back,  and  commended  him- 
self internally  to  Heaven;  for,  though  a  wise  and  strong- 
minded  man,  he  was  neither  wiser  nor  more  strong- 
minded  than  those  of  his  age  and  education,  with  whom, 
to  disbelieve  witchcraft  or  spectres,  was  held  an  undeni- 
able proof  of  atheism. 

The  stranger  went  on  without  observing  his  emotion. 
"Yes!  call  me  Apollyon,  Abaddon,  whatever  name  you 
shall  choose,  as  a  clergyman  acquainted  with  the  upper 
and  lower  circles  of  spiritual  denomination,  to  call  me  by, 
you  shall  not  find  an  appellation  more  odious  to  him  that 
bears  it,  than  is  mine  own." 

This  sentence  was  spoken  with  the  bitterness  of  self- 
upbraiding,  and  a  contortion  of  visage  absolutely  demo- 
niacal. Butler,  though  a  man  brave  by  principle,  if  not 
by  constitution,  was  overawed;  for  intensity  of  mental 
distress  has  in  it  a  sort  of  sublimity  which  repels  and 
overawes  all  men,  but  especially  those  of  kind  and  sym- 
pathetic dispositions.  The  stranger  turned  abruptly  from 
Butler  as  he  spoke,  but  instantly  returned,  and,  coming 
up  to  him  closely  and  boldly,  said,  in  a  fierce,  determined 
tone,  "I  have  told  you  who  and  what  I  am-^who,  and 
what  are  you  ?    What  is  your  name  ?" 

"Butler,"  answered  the  person  to  whom  this  abrupt 
question  was  addressed,  surprised  into  answering  it  by 
the  sudden  and  fierce  manner  of  the  querist — "Reuben 
Butler,  a  preacher  of  the  gospel." 

At  this  answer,  the  stranger  again  plucked  more  deep 
over  his  brows  the  hat  which  he  had  thrown  back  in  his 
former  agitation.  "Butler!"  he  repeated, — "the  assistant 
of  the  schoolmaster  at  Liberton  ?" 

"The  same,"  answered  Butler  composedly. 

The  stranger  covered  his  face  with  his  hand,  as  if  on 
sudden  reflection,  and  then  turned  away,  but  stopped 
when  he  had  walked  a  few  paces;  and  seeing  Butler 
follow  him  with  his  eyes,  called  out  in  a  stern  yet  sup- 
pressed tone,  just  as  if  he  had  exactly  calculated  that  his 
accents  should  not  be  heard  a  yard  beyond  the  spot  on 
which  Butler  stood.  "Go  your  way,  and  do  mine  errand. 
Do  not  look  after  me.  I  will  neither  descend  through 
the  bowels  of  these  rocks,  nor  vanish  in  a  flash  of  fire; 
and  yet  the  eye  that  seeks  to  trace  my  motions  shall  have 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  143 

roason  to  curse  it  was  ever  shrouded  by  eyelid  or  eyelash. 
J^eiroije,  and  look  not  behind  you.  Tell  Jeanie  Deans, 
that  when  the  moon  rises  I  shall  expect  to  meet  her 
at  Xicol  Muschat's  Cairn,  beneath  Saint  Anthony's 
Chapel." 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  he  turned  and  took  the  road 
agrainst  the  hill,  with  a  haste  that  seemed  as  peremptory 
as  his  tone  of  authority. 

Dreading  he  knew  not  what  of  additional  misery  to  a 
lot  which  seemed  little  capable  of  receiving  augmentation, 
and  desperate  at  the  idea  that  any  living  man  should 
dare  to  send  so  extraordinary  a  request,  couched  in  terms 
so  imperious,  to  the  half-betrothed  object  of  his  early  and 
only  affection,  Butler  strode  hastily  toward  the  cottage, 
in  order  to  ascertain  how  far  this  daring  and  rude  gallant 
was  actually  entitled  to  press  on  Jeanie  Deans  a  request, 
which  no  prudent,  and  scarce  any  modest  young  woman, 
was  likely  to  comply  with. 

Butler  was  by  nature  neither  jealous  nor  superstitious ; 
yet  the  feelings  which  lead  to  those  moods  of  the  mind 
were  rooted  in  his  heart,  as  a  portion  derived  from  the 
common  stock  of  humanity.  It  was  maddening  to  think 
that  a  profligate  gallant,  such  as  the  manner  and  tone 
of  the  stranger  evinced  him  to  be,  should  have  it  in  his 
power  to  command  forth  his  future  bride  and  plighted 
true  love,  at  a  place  so  improper,  and  an  hour  so  un- 
seasonable. Yet  the  tone  in  which  the  stranger  spoke  had 
nothing  of  the  soft  half-breathed  voice  proper  to  the 
seducer  who  solicits  an  assignation;  it  was  bold,  fierce, 
and  imperative,  and  had  less  of  love  in  it  than  of  menace 
and  intimidation. 

The  suggest  if  >ns  of  superstition  seemed  more  plausible, 
had  Butler's  mind  been  very  accessible  to  them.  Was 
this  indeed  the  Roaring  Lion,  who  goeth  about  seeking 
whom  he  may  devour?  This  was  a  question  which  pressed 
itself  on  Butlers  mind  with  an  earnestness  that  cannot 
be  conceived  by  those  who  live  in  the  present  day.  The 
fiery  eye,  the  abrupt  demeanor,  the  occasionally  harsh,  yet 
studiously  subdued  tone  of  voice, — the  features,  hand- 
some, but  now  clouded  with  pride,  now  disturbed  by  sus- 
picion, now  inflamed  with  passion — those  dark  hazel  eyes 
which  he  sometimes  shaded  with  his  cap,  as  if  he  were 


144  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

averse  to  have  them  seen  while  they  were  occupied  with 
keenly  observing  the  motions  and  bearing  of  others — 
those  eyes  that  were  now  turbid  with  melancholy,  now 
gleaming  with  scorn,  and  now  sparkling  with  fury — ^was 
it  the  passions  of  a  mere  mortal  they  expressed,  or  the 
emotions  of  a  fiend  who  seeks,  and  seeks  in  vain,  to  con- 
ceal his  fiendish  designs  under  the  borrowed  mask  of 
manly  beauty?  The  whole  partook  of  the  mien,  language, 
and  port  of  the  ruined  archangel;  and,  imperfectly  as  we 
have  been  able  to  describe  it,  the  effect  of  the  interview 
upon  Butler's  nerves,  shaken  as  they  were  at  the  time 
by  the  horrors  of  the  preceding  night,  were  greater  than 
his  understanding  warranted,  or  his  pride  cared  to  sub- 
mit to.  The  very  place  where  he  had  met  this  singular 
person  was  desecrated,  as  it  were,  and  unhallowed,  owing 
to  many  violent  deaths,  both  in  duels  and  by  suicide, 
which  had  in  former  times  taken  place  there;  and  the 
place  which  he  had  named  as  a  rendezvous  at  so  late  an 
hour,  was  held  in  general  to  be  accursed,  from  a  frightful 
and  cruel  murder  which  had  been  there  committed  by  the 
wretch  from  whom  the  place  took  its  name,  upon  the 
person  of  his  own  wife.*  It  was  in  such  places,  according 
to  the  belief  of  that  period  (when  the  laws  against  witch- 
craft were  still  in  fresh  observance,  and  had  even  lately 
been  acted  upon),  that  evil  spirits  had  power  to  make 
themselves  visible  to  human  eyes,  and  to  practise  upon 
the  feelings  and  senses  of  mankind.  Suspicions,  founded 
on  such  circumstances,  rushed  on  Butler's  mind,  unpre- 
pared as  it  was,  by  any  previous  course  of  reasoning,  to 
deny  that  which  all  of  his  time,  country,  and  profession, 
believed;  but  common  sense  rejected  these  vain  ideas  as 
inconsistent,  if  not  with  possibility,  at  least  with  the 
general  rules  by  which  the  universe  is  governed — a  devia- 
tion from  which,  as  Butler  well  argued  with  himself, 
ought  not  to  be  admitted  as  probable,  upon  any  but  the 
plainest  and  most  incontrovertible  evidence.  An  earthly 
lover,  however,  or  a  young  man,  who,  from  whatever 
cause,  had  the  right  of  exercising  such  summary  and 
unceremonious  authority  over  the  object  of  his  long- 
settled,  and  apparently  sincerely  returned  affection,  was 

*  Note   IV. — Muschat's   Cairn. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  145 

an  object  scarce  less  appalling  to  his  mind,  than  those 
•which  superstition  suggested. 

His  limbs  exhausted  with  fatigue,  his  mind  harassed 
with  anxiety,  and  with  painful  doubts  and  recollections, 
Butler  dragged  himself  up  the  ascent  from  the  valley  to 
Saint  Leonard's  Crags,  and  presented  himself  at  the 
door  of  Deans's  habitation,  with  feelings  much  akin  to 
the  miserable  reflections  and  fears  of  its  inhabitants. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Then  she  stretch'd  out  her  lily  hand, 

And  for  to  do  her  best; 
"Hae  back  thy  faith  and  troth,  Willie, 

God  gie  thy  soul  good  rest!" 

Old  Ballad. 

"Co:me  in,"  answered  'the  low  and  sweet-toned  voice  he 
loved  best  to  hear,  as  Butler  tapped  at  the  door  of  the 
cottage.  He  lifted  the  latch,  and  found  himself  under 
the  roof  of  affliction.  Jeanie  was  unable  to  trust  herself 
with  more  than  one  glance  toward  her  lover,  whom  she 
now  met  under  circumstances  so  agonizing  to  her  feelings, 
and  at  the  same  time  so  humbling  to  her.  honest  pride. 
It  is  well  known,  that  much,  both  of  what  is  good  and 
bad  in  the  Scottish  national  character,  arises  out  of  the 
intimacy  of  their  family  connections.  "To  be  come  of  ' 
honest  folk,"  that  is,  of  people  who  have  borne  a  fair  and 
unstained  reputation,  is  an  advantage  as  highly  prized  ' 
among  the  lower  Scotch  as  the  emphatic  counterpart,  "to 
be  of  a  good  family,"  is  valued  among  their  gentry.  The 
worth  and  respectability  of  one  member  of  a  peasant^s 
family,  is  always  accounted  by  themselves  and  others,  not 
only  a  matter  of  honest  pride,  but  a  guarantee  for  the 
good  conduct  of  the  whole.  On  the  contrary,  such  a 
melancholy  stain  as  was  now  flung  on  one  of  the  children 
of  Deans,  extended  its  disgrace  to  all  connected  with  him, 
and  Jeanie  felt  herself  lowered  at  once,  in  her  own  eyes, 
and  in  those  of  her  lover.  It  was  in  vain  that  she  re- 
pressed this  feeling,  as  far  subordinate  and  too  selfish  to 
be  mingled  with  her  sorrow  for  her  sister's  calamity. 
Nature    prevailed;    and    while    she    shed    tears    for    her 


146  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

sister's    distress    and   danger,    there   mingled   with    them 
bitter  drops  of  grief  for  her  own  degradation. 

As  Butler  entered,  the  old  man  was  seated  by  the  fire 
with  his  well-worn  pocket  Bible  in  his  hands,  the  com- 
panion of  the  wanderings  and  dangers  of  his  youth,  and 
bequeathed  to  him  on  the  scaffold  by  one  of  those,  who, 
in  the  year  1686,  sealed  their  enthusiastic  principles  with 
their  blood.  The  sun  sent  its  rays  through  a  small  win- 
dow at  the  old  man's  back,  and,  ''shining  motty  through 
the  reek,"  to  use  the  expression  of  a  bard  of  that  time 
and  country,  illumined  the  gray  hairs  of  the  old  man,  and 
the  sacred  page  which  he  studied.  His  features,  far 
from  handsome,  and  rather  harsh  and  severe,  had  yet, 
from  their  expression  of  habitual  gravity,  and  contempt 
for  earthly  things,  an  expression  of  stoical  dignity  amidst 
their  sternness.  He  boasted,  in  no  small  degree,  the 
attributes  which  Southey  ascribes  to  the  ancient  Scandi- 
navians, whom  he  terms  "firm  to  inflict,  and  stubborn  to 
endure."  The  whole  formed  a  picture,  of  which  the 
lights  might  have  been  given  by  Rembrandt,  but  the  out- 
line would  have  required  the  force  and  vigor  of  Michael 
Angelo. 

Deans  lifted  his  eye  as  Butler  entered,  and  instantly 
withdrew  it,  as  from  an  object  which  gave  him  at  once 
surprise  and  sudden  pain.  He  had  assumed  such  high 
ground  with  this  carnal-witted  scholar,  as  he  had  in  his 
pride  termed  Butler,  that  to  meet  him  of  all  men,  under 
feelings  of  humiliation,  aggravated  his  misfortune,  and 
was  a  consummation  like  that  of  the  dying  chief  in  the 
old  ballad — "Earl  Percy  sees  my  fall!" 

Deans  raised  the  Bible  with  his  left  hand,  so  as  partly 
to  screen  his  face,  and  putting  back  his  right  as  far  as  he 
could,  held  it  toward  Butler  in  that  position,  at  the  same 
time  turning  his  body  from  him,  as  if  to  prevent  his  see- 
ing the  working  of  his  countenance.  Butler  clasped  the 
extended  hand  which  had  supported  his  orphan  infancy, 
wept  over  it,  and  in  vain  endeavored  to  say  more  than 
the    words — "God    comfort   you — God    comfort    you!" 

"He  will — He  doth,  my  friend,"  said  Deans,  assuming 
firmness  as  he  discovered  the  agitation  of  his  guest;  "He 
doth  now,  and  He  will  yet  more,  in  His  own  gude  time. 
I  have  been  ower  proud  of  my  sufferings  in  a  gude  cause. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  147 

Reuben,  and  now  I  am  to  be  tried  with  those  whilk  will 
turn  my  pride  and  glory  into  a  reproach  and  a  hissing. 
How  muekle  better  I  hae  thought  mysell  than  them  that 
lay  saft,  fed  sweet,  and  drank  deep,  when  I  was  in  the 
moss-haggs  and  moors,  wi'  precious  Donald  Cameron,  and 
worthy  Mr.  Blackadder,  called  Guess-again;  and  how 
proud  I  was  o'  being  made  a  spectacle  to  men  and  angels, 
having  stood  on  their  pillory  at  the  Canongate  afore  I 
was  fifteen  years  old,  for  the  cause  of  a  National  Cove- 
nant !  To  think,  Reuben,  that  I,  wha  hae  been  sae 
honored  and  exalted  in  my  youth,  nay,  when  I  was  but 
a  hafflins  callant,  and  that  hae  borne  testimony  again' 
the  defections  o'  the  times  yearly,  monthly,  daily,  hourly, 
minutely,  striving  and  testifying  with  uplifted  hand  and 
voice,  cr^'ing  aloud,  and  sparing  not,  against  all  great 
national  snares,  as  the  nation-wasting  and  church-sinking 
abomination  of  union,  toleration,  and  patronage,  imposed 
by  the  last  woman  of  that  unhappy  race  of  Stuarts;  also 
against  the  infringements  and  invasions  of  the  just 
powers  of  eldership,  whereanent  I  uttered  my  paper,  called, 
a  'Cry  of  an  Howl  in  the  Desert,'  printed  at  the  Bow-head, 
and  sold  by  all  flying  stationers  in  town  and  country — 
and  now " 

Here  he  paused.  It  may  well  be  supposed  that  Butler, 
though  not  absolutely  coinciding  in  all  the  good  old 
man's  ideas  about  church  government,  had  too  much 
consideration  and  humanity  to  interrupt  him,  while  he 
reckoned  up  with  conscious  pride  his  sufferings,  and  the 
constancy  of  his  testimony.  On  the  contrary-,  when  he 
paused  under  the  influence  of  the  bitter  recollections  of 
the  moment,  Butler  instantly  threw  in  his  mite  of  en- 
couragement. 

"You  have  been  well  known,  my  old  and  revered  friend, 
a  true  and  tried  follower  of  the  Cross;  one  who,  as 
Saint  Jerome  hath  it,  'per  infamiam  et  honam  famam 
grassari  ad  immortalitatem/  which  may  be  freely  ren- 
dered, 'who  rusheth  on  to  immortal  life,  through  bad 
report  and  good  report.'  You  have  been  one  of  those  to 
whom  the  tender  and  fearful  souls  cry-  during  the  mid- 
night solitude, — 'Watchman,  what  of  the  night? — Watch- 
man, what  of  the  night?' — And,  assuredly,  this  heavy 
dispensation,    as    it    comes    not    without    Divine    permis- 


148  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

sion,  so  it  comes  not  without  its  special  commission  and 
use." 

"I  do  receive  it  as  such,"  said  poor  Deans,  returning 
the  grasp  of  Butler's  hand;  "and,  if  I  have  not  been 
taught  to  read  the  Scripture  in  any  other  tongue  but  my 
native  Scottish"  (even  in  his  distress  Butler's  Latin 
quotation  had  not  escaped  his  notice),  "I  have,  never- 
theless, so  learned  them,  that  I  trust  to  bear  even  this 
crook  in  my  lot  with  submission.  But,  oh !  Reuben  Butler, 
the  kirk,  of  whilk,  chough  unworthy,  I  have  yet  been 
thought  a  polished  shaft,  and  meet  to  be  a  pillar,  holding, 
from  my  youth  upward,  the  place  of  ruling  elder — what 
will  the  lightsome  and  profane  think  of  the  guide  that 
cannot  keep  his  own  family  from  stumbling?  How  will 
they  take  up  their  song  and  their  reproach,  when  they  see 
that  the  children  of  professors  are  liable  to  as  foul  back- 
sliding as  the  offspring  of  Belial !  But  I  will  bear  my  cross 
with  the  comfort,  that  whatever  showed  like  goodness  in 
me  or  mine,  was  but  like  the  light  that  shines  frae  creep- 
ing insects,  on  the  brae-side,  in  a  dark  night — it  kythes 
bright  to  the  ee,  because  all  is  dark  around  it;  but  when 
the  morn  comes  on  the  mountains,  it  is  but  a  puir  crawl- 
ing kail-worm  after  a'.  And  sae  it  shows,  wi'  ony  rag 
of  human  righteousness,  or  formal  law-work,  that  we  may 
pit  round  us  to  cover  our  shame." 

x^s  he  pronounced  these  words,  the  door  again  opened, 
and  Mr.  Bartoline  Saddletree  entered,  his  three-pointed 
hat  set  far  back  on  his  head,  with  a  silk  handkerchief 
beneath  it,  to  keep  it  in  that  cool  position,  his  gold- 
headed  cane  in  his  hand,  and  his  whole  deportment  that 
of  a  wealthy  burgher,  who  might  one  day  look  to  have  a 
share  in  the  magistracy,  if  not  actually  to  hold  the  curule 
chair  itself. 

Rochefoucault,  who  has  torn  the  veil  from  so  many 
foul  gangrenes  of  the  human  heart,  says,  we  find  some- 
thing not  altogether  unpleasant  to  us  in  the  misfortunes 
of  our  best  friends.  Mr.  Saddletree  would  have  been  very 
angry  had  any  one  told  him  that  he  felt  pleasure  in  the 
disaster  of  poor  Effie  Deans,  and  the  disgrace  of  her 
family;  and  yet  there  is  great  question  whether  the 
gratification  of  playing  the  person  of  importance,  incfuir- 
ing,  investigating,  and  laying  down  the  law  on  the  whole 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  149 

affair,  did  not  offer,  to  say  the  least,  full  consolation  for 
the  pain  which  pure  sympathy  gave  him  on  account  of  his 
wife's  kinswoman.  He  had  now  got  a  piece  of  real  judi- 
cial business  by  the  end,  instead  of  being  obliged,  as  was 
his  common  case,  to  intrude  his  opinion  where  it  was 
neither  wished  nor  wanted ;  and  felt  as  happy  in  the 
exchange  as  a  boy  when  he  gets  his  first  new  watch,  which 
actually  goes  when  wound  up,  and  has  real  hands  and  a 
true  dial-plate.  But  besides  this  subject  for  legal  dis- 
quisition, Bartoline's  brains  were,  also  overloaded  with  the 
affair  of  Porteous.  his  violent  death,  and  all  its  probable 
consequences  to  the  city  and  community.  It  was  what 
the  French  call  Vemharras  des  rich  esses,  the  confusion 
arising  from  too  much  mental  ^'"ealth,  He  walked  in  with 
a  consciousness  of  double  importance,  full  fraught  with 
the  superiority  of  one  who  possesses  more  information 
than  the  company  into  which  he  enters,  and  who  feels  a 
right  to  discharge  his  learning  on  them  without  mercy. 
"Clood-morning,  Mr.  Deans, — good-morrow  to  you,  Mr. 
Butler, — I  was  not  aware  that  you  were  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Deans." 

Butler  made  some  slight  answer;  his  reasons  may  be 
readily  imagined  for  not  making  his  connection  with  the 
family,  which,  in  his  eyes,  had  something  of  tender 
mystery,  a  frequent  subject  of  conversation  with  indiffer- 
ent persons,  such  as  Saddletree. 

The  worthy  burgher,  in  the  plenitude  of  self-impor- 
tance, now  sate  down  upon  a  chair,  wiped  his  brow,  col- 
lected his  breath,  and  made  the  first  experiment  of  the 
resolved  pith  of  his  lungs,  in  a  deep  and  dignified  sigh, 
resembling  a  groan  in  sound  and  intonation — "Awfu' 
times  these,  neighbor  Deans,   awfu'  times!'' 

"Sinfu',  shamefu',  heaven-daring  times,"  answered 
Deans,  in  a  lower  and  more  subdued  tone. 

''For  my  part,''  continued  Saddletree,  swelling  with 
importance,  "what  between  the  distress  of  my  friends,  and 
my  poor  auld  country,  ony  wit  that  ever  I  had  may  be 
said  to  have  abandoned  me,  sae  that  I  sometimes  think 
myself  as  ignorant  as  if  I  were  inter  rusticos.  Here  when 
I  arise  in  the  morning,  wi'  my  mind  just  arranged  touch- 
ing what's  to  be  done  in  puir  Effie's  misfortune,  and  hae 
gotten  the  haill  statute  at  my  finger-ends,  the  mob  maun 


150  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

get  up  and  string  Jock  Porteous  to  a  dyester's  beam,  and 
ding  a'  thing  out  of  my  head  again." 

Deeply   as   he   was   distressed   with   his   own   domestic 
calamity,  Deans  could  not  help  expressing  some  interest    i 
in  the  news.     Saddletree  immediately  entered  on  details 
of  the  insurrection  and  its  consequences,  while  Butler  took    ; 
the    occasion    to    seek    some    private    conversation    with 
Jeanie  Deans.     She  gave  him  the  opportunity  he  sought, 
by  leaving  the  room,  as  if  in  prosecution  of  some  part  of   ' 
her  morning  labor.    Butler  followed  her  in  a  few  minutes, 
leaving   Deans   so    closely   engaged   by   his   busy   visitor, 
that    there    was    little    chailce    of    his    observing    their 
absence. 

The  scene  of  their  interview  was  an  outer  apartment, 
where  Jeanie  was  used  to  busy  herself  in  arranging  the 
productions  of  her  dairy.  When  Butler  found  an  oppor- 
tunity of  stealing  after  her  into  this  place,  he  found  her 
silent,  dejected,  and  ready  to  burst  into  tears.  Instead 
of  the  active  industry  with  which  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed, even  while  in  the  act  of  speaking,  to  employ  her 
hands  in  some  useful  branch  of  household  business,  she 
was  seated  listless  in  a  corner,  sinking  apparently  under 
the  weight  of  her  own  thoughts.  Yet  the  instant  he 
entered,  she  dried  her  eyes,  and,  with  the  simplicity  and 
openness  of  her  character,  immediately  entered  on  con- 
versation. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come  in,  Mr.  Butler,"  said  she, 
"for — for — for  I  wished  to  tell  ye,  that  all  maun  be  ended 
between  you  and  me — it's  best  for  baith  our  sakes." 

''Ended !"  said  Butler,  in  surprise ;  ^'and  for  what  should 
it  be  ended? — 1  grant  this  is  a  heavy  dispensation,  but 
it  lies  neither  at  your  door  nor  mine — it's  an  evil  of 
God's  sending,  and  it  must  be  borne;  but  it  cannot  break 
plighted  troth,  Jeanie,  while  they  that  plighted  their 
word  wish  to  keep  it." 

"But,  Reuben,"  said  the  young  woman,  looking  at  him 
affectionately,  "I  ken  weel  that  ye  think  mair  of  me  than 
yourself;  and,  Reuben,  I  can  only  in  requital  think  mair 
of  your  weal  than  of  my  ain.  Ye  are  a  man  of  spotless 
name,  bred  to  God's  ministry,  and  a'  men  say  that  ye  will 
some  day  rise  high  in  the  kirk,  though  poverty  keep  ye 
down  e'en  now.     Poverty  is  a  bad  back-friend,  Reuben, 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  151 

and  that  ye  ken  ower  weel ;  but  ill-fame  is  a  -wanr  ane, 
anil  that  is  a  truth  ye  sail  never  learn  throufrh  my  means.'' 

''What  do  you  mean?''  said  Butler,  eagerly  and  im- 
patiently; "or  how  do  you  connect  your  sister's  guilt,  if 
guilt  there  be,  which,  I  trust  in  God,  may  yet  be  dis- 
proved, with  our  engagement? — how  can  that  affect  you 
or  me  ?'' 

"How  can  you  ask  me  that,  Mr.  Butler?  Will  this 
stain,  d'ye  think,  ever  be  forgotten,  as  lang  as  our  heads 
are  abune  the  grund?  "Will  it  not  stick  to  us,  and  to 
our  bairns,  and  to  their  very  bairns'  bairns?  To  hae  been 
the  child  of  an  honest  man,  might  hae  been  saying  some- 
thing for  me  and  mine;  but  to  be  the  sister  of  a 0  my 

God  I" — With  this  exclamation  her  resolution  failed,  and 
she  burst  into  a  passionate  fit  of  tears. 

The  lover  used  every  effort  to  induce  her  to  compose 
herself,  and  at  length  succeeded;  but  she  only  resumed 
her  composure  to  express  herself  with  the  same  positive- 
ness  as  before.  "No,  Reuben,  I'll  bring  disgrace  hame  to 
nae  man's  hearth;  my  ain  distresses  I  can  bear,  and  I 
maun  bear,  but  there  is  nae  occasion  for  buckling  them 
on  other  folk's  shouthers.  I  will  bear  my  load  alone — the 
back  is  made  for  the  burden." 

A  lover  is  by  charter  wayward  and  suspicious;  and 
Jeanie's  readiness  to  renounce  their  engagement,  under 
pretence  of  zeal  for  his  peace  of  mind  and  respectability 
of  character,  seemed  to  poor  Butler  to  form  a  portentous 
combination  with  the  commission  of  the  stranger  he  had 
met  with  that  morning.  His  voice  faltered  as  he  asked, 
"Whether  nothing  but  a  sense  of  her  sister's  present  dis- 
tress occasioned  her  to  talk  in  that  manner?" 

"And  what  else  can  do  sac  ?"  she  replied  with  simplicity. 
"Is  it  not  ten  long  years  since  we  spoke  together  in  this 
way  { 

"Ten  years?"  said  Butler.  'Tt's  a  long  time — sufficient 
perhaps  for  a  woman  to  weary " 

"To  weary  of  her  auld  gown,"  said  Jeanie,  "and  to 
wish  for  a  new  ane,  if  she  likes  to  be  brave,  but  not  long 
enough  to  weary  of  a  friend — The  eye  may  wish  change, 
but  the  heart  never." 

"Never?"  said  Reuben, — "that's  a  bold  promise." 

"But  not  more  bauld  than  true,"  said  Jeanie,  with  the 


152  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

same  quiet  simplicity  wliicli  attended  her  manner  in  joy 
and  grief,  in  ordinary  affairs,  and  in  those  which  most 
interested  her  feelings. 

Butler  paused,  and  looking  at  her  fixedly  —  "I  am 
charged,"  he  said,   "with  a  message  to  you,  Jeanie." 

"Indeed !  From  whom  ?  Or  what  can  ony  ane  have  to 
say  to  me?" 

"It  is  from  a  stranger,"  said  Butler,  affecting  to  speak 
with  an  indifference  which  his  voice  belied — "A  young 
man  whom  I  met  this  morning  in  the  Park," 

"Mercy!"  said  Jeanie  eagerly;  "and  what  did  he  say?" 

"That  he  did  not  see  you  at  the  hour  he  expected,  but 
required  you  should  meet  him  alone  at  Muschat's  Cairn 
this  night,  so  soon^as  the  moon  rises." 

"Tell  him,y^  said'  Jeanie  hastily,  "I  shall  certainly 
come." 

"May  I  ask,"  said  Butler,  his  suspicions  increasing  at 
the  ready  alacrity  of  the  answer,  "who  this  man  is  to 
whom  you  are  so  willing  to  give  the  meeting  at  a  place 
and  hour  so  uncommon  ?" 

"Folk  maun  do  muckle  they  have  little  will  to  do,  in 
this  world,"   replied  Jeanie. 

"Granted,"  said  her  lover;  "but  what  compels  you  to 
this? — who  is  this  person?  What  I  saw  of  him  was  not 
very  favorable — who,  or  what  is  he  ?" 

"I  do  not  know!"  replied  Jeanie  composedly. 

"You  do  not  know !"  said  Butler,  stepping  impatiently 
through  the  apartment — "You  purpose  to  meet  a  young' 
man  whom  you  do  not  know,  at  such  a  time,  and  in  a 
place  so  lonely — you  say  you  are  compelled  to  do  this — 
and  yet  you  say  you  do  not  know  the  person  who  exercises 
such  an  influence  over  you! — Jeanie,  what  am  I  to  think 
of  this?" 

"Think  only,  Beuben,  that  I  speak  truth,  as  if  I  were 
to  answer  at  the  last  day. — I  do  not  ken  this  man — I  do 
not  even  ken  that  I  ever  saw  him;  and  yet  I  must  give 
him  the  meeting  he  asks — there's  life  and  death  upon  it." 

"Will  you  not  tell  your  father,  or  take  him  with  you?" 
said  Butler. 

"I  cannot,"  said  Jeanie ;  "I  have  no  permission." 

"Will  you  let  me  go  with  you?  I  will  wait  in  the  Park 
till  nightfall,  and  join  you  when  you  set  out." 


THE    HEART    OF    .M11)-L()TI11A\  153 

'Tt  is  iinpossiblo."  said  Jeanie;  "there  niaunna  be 
mortal  creature  within  hearinj?  of  our  conference.'' 

"Have  you  considered  well  the  nature  of  what  you  are 
p^iny:  to  do? — the  time — the  place — an  unknown  and 
suspicious  character? — Why,  if  he  had  asked  to  see  you 
in  this  house,  your  father  sitting  in  the  next  room,  and 
witliin  ;call.  at  such  an  hour,  you  should  have  refused  to 
see  him.*' 

"My  weird  maun  bo  fulfilled,  ^Ir.  Butler;  my  life  and 
my  safety  are  in  God's  hands,  but  I'll  not  spare  to  risk 
either  of  them  on  the  errand  I  am  gaun  to  do." 

"Then,  Jeanie,"  said  Butler,  nmch  displeased,  'Sve 
must  indeed  break  short  otl",  and  bid  farewell.  When  there 
can  be  no  confidence  betwixt  a  man  and  his  plighted  wife 
on  such  a  momentous  topic,  it  is  a  sign  that  she  has  no 
longer  the  regard  for  him  that  makes  their  engagement 
safe  and  suitable.'' 

Jeanie  looked  at  him  and  sighed.  "I  thought,''  she 
said,  "that  I  had  brought  myself  to  bear  this  parting — but 
— but — I  did  not  ken  that  we  were  to  part  in  unkindness. 
But  I  am  a  woman  and  you  are  a  man — it  may  be  ditfer- 
ent  wi'  you — if  your  mind  is  made  easier  by  thinking  sae 
hardly  of  me,  I  would  not  ask  you  to  think  otherwise." 

"You  are,"  said  Butler,  "what  you  have  always  been — 
wiser,  better,  and  less  selfish  in  your  native  feelings,  than 
I  can  be,  with  all  the  helps  philosophy  can  give  to  a 
Christian. — But  why — why  will  you  persevere  in  an  un- 
dertaking so  desperate?  Why  will  you  not  let  me  be  your 
assistant — your  protector,  or  at  least  your  adviser?" 

"Just  because  I  cannot,  and  I  dare  not,"  answered 
Jeanie. — "But  hark,  what's  that  ?  Surely  my  father  is 
no  weel  ?" 

In  fact,  the  voices  in  the  next  room  became  obstreper- 
ously loud  of  a  sudden,  the  cause  of  which  vociferation  it 
is  necessary  to  explain  before  we  go  farther. 

When  Jeanie  and  Butler  retired,  Mr.  Saddletree  entered 
upon  the  business  which  chiefly  interested  the  family.  In 
the  commencement  of  their  conversation  he  found  old 
Deans,  who,  in  his  usual  state  of  mind,  was  no  granter  of 
propositions,  so  much  subdued  by  a  deep  sense  of  his 
daughter's  danger  and  disgrace,  that  he  heard  without 
replying  to,  or  perhaps  without  understanding,  one  or  two 


154  THE   HEART   OE   MID-LOTHIAN 

learned  disquisitions  on  the  nature  of  the  crime  imputed 
to  her  charge,  and  on  the  steps  which  ought  to  be  taken 
in  consequence.  His  only  answer  at  each  pause  was,  "I 
am  no  misdoubting  that  you  wuss  us  weel — ^your  wife's 
our  far-awa  cousin." 

Encouraged  by  these  symptoms  of  acquiescence,  Saddle- 
tree, who,  as  an  amateur  of  the  law,  had  a  supreme  defer- 
ence for  all  constituted  authorities,  again  recurred  to  his 
other  topic  of  interest,  the  murder,  namely,  of  Porteous, 
and  pronounced  a  severe  censure  on  the  parties  concerned. 

"These  are  kittle  times — kittle  times,  Mr.  Deans,  when 
the  people  take  the  power  of  life  and  death  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  rightful  magistrate  into  their  ain  rough  grip. 
I  am  of  opinion,  and  so  I  believe  will  Mr.  Crossmyloof 
and  the  Privy  Council,  that  this  rising  in  efFeir  of  war, 
to  take  away  the  life  of  a  reprieved  man,  will  prove  little 
better  than  perduellion." 

"If  I  hadna  that  on  my  mind  whilk  is  ill  to  bear,  Mr. 
Saddletree,"  said  Deans,  "I  wad  make  bold  to  dispute  that 
point  wi'  you." 

"How  could  you  dispute  what's  plain  law,  man?"  said 
Saddletree,  somewhat  contemptuously;  "there's  no  a  cal- 
lant  that  e'er  carried  a  pock  wi'  a  process  in't,  but  will 
tell  you  that  perduellion  is  the  warst  and  maist  virulent 
kind  of  treason,  being  an  open  convocating  of  the  king's 
lieges  against  his  authority  (mair  especially  in  arms,  and 
by  touk  of  drum,  to  baith  whilk  accessories  my  een  and 
lugs  bore  witness),  and  muckle  warse  than  lese-majesty, 
or  the  concealment  of  a  treasonable  purpose — It  winna 
bear  a  dispute,  neighbor." 

"But  it  will,  though,"  retorted  Douce  Davie  Deans;  "I 
tell  ye  it  will  bear  a  dispute — I  never  like  your  cauld, 
legal,  formal  doctrines,  neighbor  Saddletree.  I  had  unco 
little  by  the  Parliament  House,  since  the  awfu'  downfall 
of  the  hopes  of  honest  folk  that  followed  the  Revolution." 

"But  what  wad  ye  hae  had,  Mr.  Deans?"  said  Saddle- 
tree impatiently;  "dinna  ye  get  baith  liberty  and  con- 
science made  fast,  and  settled  by  tailzie  on  you  and  your 
heirs  forever?" 

"Mr.  Saddletree,"  retorted  Deans,  "I  ken  ye  are  one  of 
those  that  are  wise  after  the  manner  of  this  world,  and 
that  ye  haud  your  part,  and  cast  in  your  portion,  wi'  the 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  155 

lang-heads  and  lang-gowns,  and  keep  with  the  smart 
witty-pated  lawyers  of  this  our  land — Weary  on  the  dark 
and  dolefu'  cast  that  they  hae  j?ien  this  unhappy  kingdom, 
when  their  black  hands  of  defection  were  clasped  in  the 
red  hands  of  our  sworn  murtherers :  when  those  who  had 
numbered  the  towers  of  our  Zion,  and  marked  the  bul- 
warks of  our  Reformation,  saw  their  hope  turn  into  a 
snare,  and  their  rejoicing  into  weeping." 

"I  eanna  understand  this,  neighbor,"  answered  Saddle- 
tree. "I  am  an  honest  Presbyterian  of  the  Kirk  of  Scot- 
land, and  stand  by  her  and  the  General  Assembly,  and 
the  due  administration  of  justice  by  the  fifteen  Lords  o' 
Session  and  the  five  Lords  o'  Justiciary." 

"Out  upon  ye,  Mr.  Saddletree!"  exclaimed  David,  who, 
in  an  opportunity  of  giving  his  testimony  on  the  offences 
and  backslidings  of  the  land,  forgot  for  a  moment  his  own 
domestic  calamity — ''out  upon  your  General  Assembly, 
and  the  back  of  my  hand  to  your  Court  o'  Session  I — 
What  is  the  tane  but  a  waefu'  bunch  o'  cauldrife  pro- 
fessors and  ministers,  that  sate  bien  and  warm  when  the 
persecuted  remnant  were  warstling  wV  hunger,  and  cauld, 
and  fear  of  death,  and  danger  of  fire  and  sword,  upon 
wet  brae-sides,  peat-haggs,  and  flow-mosses,  and  that  now 
creep  out  of  their  holes,  like  blue-bottle  flees  in  a  blink  of 
sunshine,  to  take  the  pu'pits  and  places  of  better  folk — 
of  them  that  witnessed,  and  testified,  and  fought,  and 
endured  pit,  prison-house,  and  transportation  beyond 
seas? — A  bonny  bike  there's  o'  them! — And  for  your 
Court  o'  Session " 

"Ye  may  say  what  ye  will  o'  the  General  Assembly," 
said  Saddletree,  interrupting  him,  "and  let  them  clear 
them  that  kens  them;  but  as  for  the  Lords  o'  Session, 
forby  that  they  are  my  next-door  neighbors,  I  would  have 
ye  ken,  for  your  a  in  regulation,  that  to  raise  scandal  anent 
them,  whilk  is  termed,  to  murmur  again  them,  is  a  crime 
sui  generis — sui  generis,  Mr.  Deans — ken  ye  what  that 
amounts  to?" 

"I  ken  little  o'  the  language  of  Antichrist,"  said  Deans ; 
"and  I  care  less  than  little  what  carnal  courts  may  call 
the  speeches  of  honest  men.  And  as  to  murmur  again 
them,  it's  what  a'  the  folk  tliat  loses  their  pleas,  and  nine- 
tenths  o'   them   that   win   them,   will   be  gay  sure  to   bo 


156  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

guilty  in.  Sae  I  wad  hae  ye  ken  that  I  hand  a'  your 
gleg-tongued  advocates,  that  sell  their  knowledge  for 
pieces  of  silver,  and  your  worldly-wise  judges,  that  will 
gie  three  days  of  hearing  in  presence  to  a  debate  about 
the  peeling  of  an  ingan,  and  no  ae  half-hour  to  the 
gospel  testimony,  as  legalists  and  formalists,  countenanc- 
ing, by  sentences,  and  quirks,  and  cunning  terms  of  law, 
the  late  begun  courses  of  national  defections — union, 
toleration,  patronages,  and  Yerastian  prelatic  oaths.  As 
for  the  soul  and  body-killing  Court  o'  Justiciary " 

The  habit  of  considering  his  life  as  dedicated  to  bear 
testimony  in  behalf  of  what  he  deemed  the  suffering  and 
deserted  cause  of  true  religion,  had  swept  honest  David 
along  with  it  thus  far;  but  with  the  mention  of  the 
criminal  court,  the  recollection  of  the  disastrous  condi- 
tion of  his  daughter  rushed  at  once  on  his  mind;  he 
stopped  short  in  the  midst  of  his  triumphant  declamation, 
pressed  his  hands  against  his  forehead,  and  remained 
silent. 

Saddletree  was  somewhat  moved,  but  apparently  not  so 
much  so  as  to  induce  him  to  relinquish  the  privilege  of 
prosing  in  his  turn,  afforded  him  by  David's  sudden 
silence.  "Nae  doubt,  neighbor,"  he  said,  "it's  a  sair  thing 
to  hae  to  do  wi'  courts  of  law,  unless  it  be  to  improve 
ane's  knowledge  and  practique,  by  waiting  on  as  a  hearer; 
and  touching  this  unhappy  affair  of  Effie — ye'll  hae  seen 
the  dittay,  doubtless?"  He  dragged  out  of  his  pocket  a 
bundle  of  papers,  and  began  to  turn  them  over.  "This  is 
no  it — this  is  the  information  of  Mungo  Marsport,  of 
that  ilk,  against  Captain  Lackland,  for  coming  on  his 
lands  of  Marsport  with  hawks,  hounds,  lying-dogs,  nets, 
guns,  cross-bows,  hagbuts  of  found,  or  other  engines  more 
or  less  for  destruction  of  game,  sic  as  red-deer,  fallow- 
deer,  cappercailzies,  gray-fowl,  moor-fowl,  paitricks, 
herons,  and  sic  like;  he  the  said  defender  not  being  ane 
qualified  person,  in  terms  of  the  statute  sixteen  hundred 
and  twenty-ane;  that  is,  not  having  ane  plough-gate  of 
land.  Now,  the  defences  proponed  say,  that  non  constat 
at  this  present  what  is  a  plough-gate  of  land,  whilk  un- 
certainty is  sufficient  to  elide  the  conclusions  of  the  libel. 
But  then  the  answers  to  the  defences  (they  are  signed  by 
Mr.   Crossmyloof,   but  Mr.   Younglad   drew   them),   they 


THE    IIKAKT    OF    MID-LOTIIIAN  157 

pro])ono,  that  it  signifies  nacthinp:,  in  hoc  statu,  wliat  or 
how  nuickle  a  ploujj:h-jj:ate  of  land  may  be,  in  respect  the 
defender  has  nae  lands  whatsoejer,  less  or  mair.  ^Sae 
irrant  a  i)lough-o:ate' "  (here  Saddletree  read  from  the 
])ajier  in  his  hand)  "  'to  be  less  than  tlio  nineteenth  part 
of  a  guse's  grass' — (I  trow  Mr.  Crossmyloof  put  in  that 
— I  ken  his  style), — 'of  a  guse's  grass,  what  the  better 
will  the  defender  be,  seeing  he  hasna  a  divot-east  of  land 
in  Scotland? — Advocatus  for  Lackland  duplies,  that  niliil 
interest  de  possess^ione,  the  pursuer  must  put  his  case 
under  the  statute' — (now,  this  is' worth  your  notice,  neigh- 
bor),— 'and  must  show,  formaliter  et  specialiter,  as  well  as 
generaliter,  what  is  the  qualification  that  defender  Lack- 
land does  not  possess — let  him  tell  me  what  a  plough-gate 
of  land  is,  and  I'll  tell  him  if  I  have  one  or  no.  Surely 
the  pursuer  is  bound  to  understand  his  own  libel,  and  his 
ouTi  statute  that  he  founds  upon.  Tit  ins  pursues  Mfpvius 
for  recovery  of  ane  hlacl'  horse  lent  to  Maevius — surely  he 
>hall  have  judgment;  but  if  Titius  pursue  Maevius  for 
ane  searlet  or  crimson  horse,  doubtless  he  shall  be  bound 
to  show  that  there  is  sic  ane  animal  in  rerum  natura. 
No  man  can  be  bound  to  plead  nonsense — that  is  to  say, 
to  a  charge  which  cannot  be  explained  or  understood' — 
(he's  wrang  there — the  better  the  pleadings  the  fewer 
understand  them), — 'and  so  the  reference  unto  this  un- 
defined and  unintelligible  measure  of  land  is,  as  if  a 
penalty  was  inflicted  by  statute  for  any  man  who  suld 
hunt  or  hawk,  or  use  lying-dogs,  and  wearing  a  sky-blue 

pair  of  breeches,  without  having' But  I  am  wearying 

you,  Mr.  Deans,  we'll  pass  to  your  ain  business, — though 
this  case  of  ^farsport  against  Lackland  has  made  an  unco 
<lin  in  the  Outer  House.  Weel,  hero's  the  dittay  against 
puir  Effie:  'Whereas  it  is  humbly  meant  and  shown  to  us,' 
etc.  (they  are  words  of  mere  style),  'that  where,  by  the 
laws  of  this  and  every  other  well-regulated  realm,  the 
murder  of  any  one,  more  especially  of  an  infant  child,  is  a 
crime  of  ane  high  nature,  and  severely  punishable:  And 
whereas,  without  prejudice  to  the  foresaid  generality,  it 
was,  by  ane  act  made  in  the  second  session  of  tlie  First 
Parliament  of  our  Most  High  and  Dread  Sovereigns 
William  and  Mary,  especially  enacted,  that  ane  woman 
who  shall  hav(^  cf)nccal('d  her  ((Midition.  and  shall  not  be 


158  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

able  to  show  that  she  hath  called  for  help  at  the  birth,  in 
case  that  the  child  shall  be  found  dead  or  amissing,  shall 
be  deemed  and  held  guilty  of  the  murder  thereof;  and  the 
said  facts  of  concealment  and  pregnancy  being  found 
proven  or  confessed,  shall  sustain  the  pains  of  law  ac- 
cordingly; yet,  nevertheless,  you  Effie,  or  Euphemia 
Deans '" 

"Read  no  farther!"  said  Deans,  raising  his  head  up; 
"I  would  rather  ye  thrust  a  sword  into  my  heart  than 
read  a  word  farther!" 

'Weel,  neighbor,"  said  Saddletree,  "I  thought  it  wad 
hae  comforted  ye  to  ken  the  best  and  the  warst  o't.  But 
the  question  is,  what's  to  be  dune?" 

"Nothing,"  answered  Deans  firmly,  "but  to  abide  the 
dispensation  that  the  Lord  sees  meet  to  send  us.  Oh,  if  it 
had  been  His  will  to  take  the  gray  head  to  rest  before  this 
awful  visitation  on  my  house  and  name !  But  His  will  be 
done.     I  can  say  that  yet,  though  I  can  say  little  mair." 

"But,  neighbor,"  said  Saddletree,  "ye'll  retain  ^advocates 
for  the  puir  lassie  ?  it's  a  thing  maun  needs  be  thought  of." 

"If  there  was  ae  man  of  them,"  answered  Deans,  "that 
held  fast  his  integrity — but  I  ken  them  weel,  they  are  a' 
carnal,  crafty,  and  warld-hunting  self-seekers,  Yerastians, 
and  Arminians,  every  ane  o'  them." 

"Hout  tout,  neighbor,  ye  maunna  take  the  warld  at  its 
word,"  said  Saddletree;  the  very  deil  is  no  sae  ill  as  he's 
ca'd;  and  I  ken  mair  than  ae  advocate  that  may  be  said 
to  hae  some  integrity  as  weel  as  their  neighbors;  that  is, 
after  a  sort  o'  fashion  o'  their  ain." 

"It  is  indeed  but  a  fashion  of  integrity  that  ye  will  find 
amang  them,"  replied  David  Deans,  "and  a  fashion  of 
wisdom,  and  fashion  of  carnal  learning — gazing,  glancing- 
glasses  they  are,  fit  only  to  fling  the  glaiks  in  folk's  een, 
wi'  their  pawky  policy,  and  earthly  ingine,  their  flights 
and  refinements,  and  periods  of  eloquence,  frae  heathen 
emperors  and  popish  canons.  They  canna,  in  that  daft 
trash  ye  were  reading  to  me,  sae  muckle  as  ca'  men  that 
are  sae  ill-starred  as  to  be  amang  their  hands,  by  ony 
name  o'  the  dispensation  o'  grace,  but  maun  new  baptize 
them  by  the  names  of  the  accursed  Titus,  wha  was  made 
the  instrument  of  burning  the  holy  Temple,  and  other  sic 
like  heathens." 


THE    IIEAKT    OF    :MlD-LOTniAN  159 

'"It's  Tishiiis,"  interrupted  Saddletree,  "and  no  Titus. 
Mr.  Crossmyloof  cares  as  little  about  Titus  or  the  Latin 
learning:  as  ye  do. — But  it's  a  ease  of  necessity — she  maun 
hae  counsel.  Now,  I  could  speak  to  Mr.  Crossmyloof — 
he's  weel  kend  for  a  round-spun  Presbyterian,  and  a 
ruling-  elder  to  boot." 

"He's  a  rank  Yerastian,"  replied  Deans;  "one  of  the 
public  and  polititious  warldly-wise  men  that  stude  up  to 
prevent  ane  general  owning  of  the  cause  in  the  day  of 
power." 

"What  say  ye  to  the  auld  Laird  of  Cuif about?"  said 
Saddletree;  'lie  whiles  thumps  the  dust  out  of  a  case  gay 
and  weel." 

"He?  the  fause  loon!"  answered  Deans — "he  was  in  his 
bandaliers  to  hae  joined  the  ungracious  Highlanders  in 
1715.  an  they  had  ever  had  the  luck  to  cross  the  Firth." 

"Weel,  Arniston  ?  there's  a  clever  chield  for  ye !"  said 
Bartoline  triumphantly. 

"Ay,  to  bring  popish  medals  in  till  their  very  library 
from  that  schismatic  woman  in  the  north,  the  Duchess 
of  Gordon." 

"Weel,  weel,  but  somebody  ye  maun  hae — What  think 
ye  o'  Kittlepunt?" 

"He's  an  Arminian." 

"Woodsetter  ?" 

"He's,   I   doubt,   a   Cocceian." 

"Auld  Williewhaw?" 

"He's  onything  ye  like." 

"Young  Xa?mmo  ?" 

"He's  naething  at  a'." 

'TTe're  ill  to  please,  neighbor^"  said  Saddletree;  "I  hae 
run  owcr  the  pick  o'  them  for  you,  ye  maun  e'en  choose 
for  yoursell;  but  bethink  ye  that  in  the  multitude  of  coun- 
sellors there's  safety. — What  say  ye  to  try  young  Mack- 
enyie?  he  has  a'  his  uncle's  Practiques  at  the  tongue's 
end."^ 

"What,  sir,  wad  ye  speak  to  me,"  exclaimed  the  sturdy 
Presbyterian  in  excessive  wrath,  "about  a  man  that  has 
the  blood  of  the  saints  at  his  fingers'  ends?  Didna  his 
erne  die  and  gang  to  his  place  wi'  the  name  of  the  Hluidy 
Mackenyie?  and  winna  he  be  kend  by  that  name  sae  lang 
as  there's  a  Scots  tongue  to  speak  the  word  ?     If  the  life 


160  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

of  the  dear  bairn  that's  under  a  suffering  dispensation, 
and  Jeanie's,  and  my  ain,  and  a'  mankind's,  depended 
on  my  asking  sic  a  slave  o'  Satan  to  speak  a  word  for  me 
or  them,  they  should  a'  gae  down  the  water  thegither  for 
Davie  Deans!" 

It  was  the  exalted  tone  in  which  he  spoke  this  last 
sentence  that  broke  up  the  conversation  between  Butler 
and  Jeanie,  and  brought  them  both  ''ben  the  house,"  to 
use  the  language  of  the  country.  Here  they  found  the 
poor  old  man  half  frantic  between  grief,  and  zealous  ire 
against  Saddletree's  proposed  measures,  his  cheek  in- 
flamed, his  hand  clenched,  and  his  voice  raised,  while  the 
tear  in  his  eye,  and  the  occasional  quiver  of  his  accents, 
showed  that  his  utmost  efforts  were  inadequate  to  shaking 
oft"  the  consciousness  of  his  misery.  Butler,  apprehensive 
of  the  consequences  of  his  agitation  to  an  aged  and  feeble 
frame,  ventured  to  utter  to  him  a  recommendation  to 
patience. 

'T  am  patient,"  returned  the  old  man  sternly, — "more 
patient  than  any  one  who  is  alive  to  the  woful  backslid- 
ings  of  a  miserable  time  can  be  patient;  and  in  so  much, 
that  I  need  neither  sectarians,  nor  sons,  nor  grandsons  of 
sectarians,  to  instruct  my  gray  hairs  how  to  bear  my 
cross." 

"But,  sir,"  continued  Butler,  taking  no  offence  at  the 
slur  cast  on  his  grandfather's  faith,  "we  must  use  human 
means.  When  you  call  in  a  physician,  you  would  not,  I 
suppose,  question  him  on  the  nature  of  his  religious 
principles  ?" 

"Wad  I  7wf"  answered  David — "But  I  wad,  though; 
and  if  he  didna  satisfy  me  that  he  had  a  right  sense  of  the 
right-hand  and  left-hand  defections  of  the  day,  not  a 
goutte  of  his  physic  should  gang  through  my  father's 
son." 

It  is  a  dangerous  thing  to  trust  to  an  illustration. 
Butler  had  done  so  and  miscarried;  but,  like  a  gallant 
soldier  when  his  musket  misses  fire,  he  stood  his  ground, 
and  charged  with  the  bayonet. — "This  is  too  rigid  an 
interpretation  of  your  duty,  sir.  The  sun  shines,  and  the 
rain  descends,  on  the  just  and  unjust,  and  they  are  placed 
together  in  life  in  circumstances  which  frequently  render 
intercourse  between  them  indispensable,  perhaps  that  the 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  101 

evil  may  have  an  opportunity  of  being  converted  by  the 
good,  and  perhaps,  also,  that  the  righteous  might,  among 
other  trials,  be  subjected  to  that  of  occasional  converse 
with  the  profane." 

"Ye're  a  silly  callant,  Reuben,"  answered  Deans,  "with 
your  bits  of  argument.  Can  a  man  touch  pitch  and  not  be 
defiled?  Or  what  think  ye  of  the  brave  and  worthy 
champions  of  the  Covenant,  that  wadna  sae  muckle  as 
hear  a  minister  speak,  be  his  gifts  and  graces  as  they 
would,  that  hadna  witnessed  against  the  enormities  of  the 
day?  Nae  lawyer  shall  ever  speak  for  me  and  mine  that 
hasna  concurred  in  the  testimony  of  the  scattered,  yet 
lovely  remnant,  which  abode  in  the  cliffs  of  the  rocks." 

So  saying,  and  as  if  fatigued,  both  with  the  arguments 
and  presence  of  his  guests,  the  old  man  arose,  and  seeming 
to  bid  them  adieu  with  a  motion  of  his  head  and  hand, 
went  to  shut  himself  up  in  his  sleeping  apartment. 

'Tt's  thrawing  his  daughter's  life  awa,"  said  Saddletree 
to  Butler,  "to  hear  him  speak  in  that  daft  gate.  Where 
will  he  ever  get  a  Cameronian  advocate?  Or  wha  ever 
heard  of  a  lawyer's  suffering  either  for  ae  religion  or 
another?     The  lassie's  life  is  clean  flung  awa." 

During  the  latter  part  of  this  debate,  Dumbiedikes  had 
arrived  at  the  door,  dismounted,  hung  the  pony's  bridle 
on  the  usual  hook,  and  sunk  down  on  his  ordinary  settle. 
His  eyes,  with  more  than  their  usual  animation,  followed 
first  one  speaker,  then  another,  till  he  caught  the  melan- 
choly sense  of  the  whole  from  Saddletree's  last  words.  He 
rose  from  his  seat,  stumped  slowly  across  the  room,  and, 
coming  close  up  to  Saddletree's  ear,  said,  in  a  tremulous, 
anxious  voice,  "Will — will  siller  do  naething  for  them, 
Mr.  Saddletree?" 

"Ump.h!"'  said  Saddletree,  looking  grave, — "siller  will 
certainly  do  it  in  the  Parliament  House,  if  onything  ca/j 
do  it;  but  whare's  the  siller  to  come  frae?  Mr.  Deans, 
ye  see,  will  do  naething;  and  though  ^Irs.  Saddletree's 
their  far-awa  friend,  and  right  good  weel-wisher,  and  is 
weel  disposed  to  assist,  yet  she  wadna  like  to  stand  to  be 
bound  sinr/uli  in  solidum  to  such  an  exi)ensive  wark.  An 
ilka  friend  wad  bear  a  share  o'  the  burden,  something 
might  be  dune — ilka  ane  to  be  liable  fc^r  their  ain  input — 
I   wadna   like  to  see  the  case  fa'   through   without   being 


162  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

pled — it  wadna  be  creditable,  for  a'  that  daft  whig  body 
says." 

"I'll — I  will — ^yes"  (assuming  fortitude),  "I  will  be  an- 
swerable," said  Dumbiedikes,  '^'for  a  score  of  punds 
sterling." — And  he  was  silent,  staring  in  astonishment  at 
finding  himself  capable  of  such  unwonted  resolution  and 
excessive  generosity. 

"God  Almighty  bless  ye,  Laird !"  said  Jeanie,  in  a  trans- 
port of  gratitude. 

"Ye  may  ca'  the  twenty  punds  thretty,"  said  Dumbie- 
dikes, looking  bashfully  away  from  her,  and  toward 
Saddletree. 

"That  will  do  bravely,"  said  Saddletree,  rubbing  his 
hands;  "and  ye  sail  hae  a'  my  skill  and  knowledge  to  gar 
the  siller  gang  far — I'll  tape  it  out  weel — I  ken  how  to  gar 
the  birkies  tak  short  fees,  and  be  glad  o'  them  too — it's 
only  garring  them  trow  ye  hae  twa  or  three  cases  of  im- 
portance coming  on,  and  they'll  work  cheap  to  get  custom. 
Let  me  alane  for  whilly-whaing  an  advocate : — it's  nae 
sin  to  get  as  muckle  frae  them  for  our  siller  as  we  can — 
after  a',  it's  but  the  wind  o'  their  mouth — it  costs  them 
naething;  whereas,  in  my  wretched  occupation  of  a 
saddler,  horse-milliner,  and  harness-maker,  we  are  out 
unconscionable  sums  just  for  barkened  hides  and  leather." 
.  "Can  I  be  of  no  use?"  said  Butler.  "My  means,  alas! 
are  only  worth  the  black  coat  I  wear;  but  I  am  young — I 
owe  much  to  the  family — Can  I  do  nothing?" 

"Ye  can  help  to  collect  evidence,  sir,"  said  Saddletree; 
"if  we  could  but  find  ony  ane  to  say  she  had  gien  the  least 
hint  o'  her  condition,  she  wad  be  brought  aff  wi'  a  wat 
finger — Mr.  Crossmyloof  tell'd  me  sae.  The  crown,  says 
he,  canna  be  craved  to  prove  a  positive — was't  a  positive 
or  a  negative  they  couldna  be  ca'd  to  prove  ? — it  was  the 
tane  or  the  tither  o'  them,  I  am  sure,  and  it  maksna 
muckle  matter  whilk.  Wherefore,  says  he,  the  libel  maun 
be  redargued  by  the  panel  proving  her  defences.  And  it 
canna  be  done  otherwise." 

"But  the  fact,  sir,"  argued  Butler,  "the  fact  that  this 
poor  girl  has  borne  a  child ;  surely  the  crown  lawyers  must 
prove  that  ?"  said  Butler. 

Saddletree  paused  a  moment,  while  the  visage  of  Dum- 
biedikes, which  traversed,  as  if  it  had  been  placed  on  a 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  163 

pivot,  from  the  one  spokesman  to  the  other,  assumed 
a  more  blithe  expression. 

"Ye — ye — ye — es,''  said  Saddletree,  after  some  grave 
hesitation;  "unquestionably  that  is  a  thing  to  be  proved, 
as  the  court  will  more  fully  declare  by  an  interlocutor  of 
relevancy  in  common  form ;  but  I  fancy  that  job's  done 
already,  for  she  has  confessed  her  guilt." 

"Confessed  the  murder?"  exclaimed  Jeanie,  with  a 
scream  that  made  them  all  start. 

"Xo,  I  dinna  say  that,"  replied  Bartoline.  "But  she 
confessed  bearing  the  babe." 

"And  what  became  of  it,  then?"  said  Jeanie;  "for  not  a 
word  could  I  get  from  her  but  bitter  sighs  and  tears." 

"She  says  it  was  taken  away  from  her  by  the  woman  in 
whose  house  it  was  born,  and  who  assisted  her  at  the 
time." 

"And  who  was  that  woman?"  said  Butler.  "Surely  by 
her  means  the  truth  might  be  discovered. — Who  was  she? 
I  will  fly  to  her  directly." 

"I  wish,"  said  Dumbiedikes,  "I  were  as  young  and  as 
supple  as  you,  and  had  the  gift  of  the  gab  as  week" 

"Who  is  she?"  again  reiterated  Butler  impatiently. — 
"Who  could  that  woman  be?" 

"Ay,  wha  kens  that  but  hersell,"  said  Saddletree;  "she 
deponed  further,  and  declined  to  answer  that  interrog- 
atory." 

"Then  to  herself  will  I  instantly  go,"  said  Butler; 
"farewell,  Jeanie ;"  then  coming  close  up  to  her. — "Take  no 
rash  steps  till  you  hear  from  me.  Farewell!"  and  he 
innnciliately  left  the  cottage. 

"I  wad  gang  too,"  said  the  landed  proprietor,  in  an 
anxious,  jealous,  and  repining  tone,  "but  my  powny  winna 
for  the  life  o'  me  gang  ony  other  road  than  just  frae 
Dumbiedikes  to  this  house-end,  and  sae  straight  back 
again." 

"Ye'U  do  better  for  them,"  said  Saddletree,  as  they  left 
the  house  together,  "by  sending  me  the  thretty  punds." 

"Thretty  punds?"  hesitated  Dumbiedikes,  who  was  now 
out  of  the  reach  of  those  eyes  which  had  inflamed  his 
generosity;  "I  only  said  twenty  pund." 

"Ay;  but,"  said  Saddletree,  "that  was  under  protesta- 


164  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

tion  to  add  and  eik ;  and  so  ye  craved  leave  to  amend  yout 
libel,  and  made  it  thretty." 

"Did  I?  I  dinna  mind  that  I  did,"  answered  Dumbie- 
dikes.  "But  whatever  I  said  I'll  stand  to."  Then  be- 
striding- his  steed  with  some  difficulty,  he  added,  "Dinna 
ye  think  poor  Jeanie's  een  wi'  the  tears  in  them  glanced 
like  lamour  beads,  Mr.  Saddletree?" 

"I  kenna  muckle  about  women's  een.  Laird,"  replied  the 
insensible  Bartoline;  "and  I  care  just  as  little.  I  wuss  I 
were  as  weel  free  o'  their  tongues;  though  few  wives,"  he 
added,  recollecting  the  necessity  of  keeping  up  his  char- 
acter for  domestic  rule,  "are  under  better  command  than 
mine.  Laird.  I  allow  neither  perduellion  nor  lese-majesty 
against  my  sovereign  authority." 

The  Laird  saw  nothing  so  important  in  this  observation 
as  to  call  for  a  rejoinder,  and  when  they  had  exchanged 
a  mute  salutation,  they  parted  in  peace  upon  their  differ- 
ent errands. 


CHAPTEE    XIII 

I'll    warrant    that    fellow    from    drowning,    were    the    ship    no 
stronger    than   a   nut-shell.  The    Tempest. 

Butler  felt  neither  fatigue  nor  want  of  refreshment, 
although,  from  the  mode  in  which  he  had  spent  the  night, 
he  might  well  have  been  overcome  with  either.  But  in 
the  earnestness  with  which  he  hastened  to  the  assistance 
of  the  sister  of  Jeanie  Deans,  he  forgot  both. 

In  his  first  progress  he  walked  with  so  rapid  a  pace  as 
almost  approached  to  running,  when  he  was  surprised  to 
hear  behind  him  a  call  upon  his  name,  contending  with 
an  asthmatic  cough,  and  half-drowned  amid  the  resound- 
ing trot  of  an  Highland  pony.  He  looked  behind,  and 
saw  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes  making  after  him  with 
what  speed  he  might,  for  it  happened  fortunately  for  the 
Laird's  purpose  of  conversing  with  Butler,  that  his  own 
road  homeward  was  for  about  two  hundred  yards  the 
same  with  that  which  led  by  the  nearest  way  to  the  city. 
Butler  stopped  when  he  heard  himself  thus  summoned, 
internally  wishing  no  good  to  the  panting  equestrian  who 
thus   retarded  his  journey. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  165 

''Uh!  nil!  uh!"  ejaculated  Dumbiedikes,  as  he  checked 
the  hobbling  pace  of  the  pony  by  our  friend  Butler,  "L'h! 
uh !  it's  a  hard-set  willyard  beast  this  o'  mine."  He  had 
in  fact  just  overtaken  the  object  of  his  chase  at  the  very 
point  beyond  which  it  would  have  been  absolutely  im- 
possible for  him  to  have  continued  the  pursuit,  since 
there  Butler's  road  parted  from  that  leading  to  Dumbie- 
dikes, and  no  means  of  influence  or  compulsion  which 
the  rider  could  possibly  have  used  toward  his  Bucephalus 
could  have  induced  the  Celtic  obstinacy  of  Rory  Bean 
(such  was  the  pony's  name)  to  have  diverged  a  yard 
from  the  path  that  conducted  him  to  his  own  paddock. 

Even  when  he  had  recovered  from  the  shortness  of 
breath  occasioned  by  a  trot  much  more  rapid  than  Rory 
or  he  were  accustomed  to,  the  high  purpose  of  Dumbie- 
dikes seemed  to  stick  as  it  were  in  his  throat,  and  impede 
his  utterance,  so  that  Butler  stood  for  nearly  three 
minutes  ere  he  could  utter  a  syllable;  and  when  he  did 
find  voice,  it  was  only  to  say,  after  one  or  two  efforts, 
"Uh !  uh !  uhm !  I  say,  Mr. — Mr.  Butler,  it's  a  braw  day 
for  the  ha'rst." 

"Fine  day,  indeed,"  said  Butler.  'T  wish  you  good 
morning,  sir." 

"Stay — stay  a  bit,"  rejoined  Dumbiedikes;  "that  was  no 
what  I  had  gotten  to  say." 

"Then,  pray  be  quick,  and  let  me  have  your  commands," 
rejoined  Butler;  "1  crave  your  pardon,  but  I  am  in  haste, 
and  Tempiis  nemini — you  know  the  proverb." 

Dumbiedikes  did  not  know  the  proverb,  nor  did  he 
even  take  tbe  trouble  to  endeavor  to  look  as  if  he  did,  as 
others  in  his  place  might  have  done.  Pie  was  concentrat- 
ing all  his  intellects  for  one  grand  proposition,  and  could 
not  afford  any  detachment  to  defend  outposts.  "I  say, 
Mr.  Butler,"  said  he,  "ken  ye  if  ^Ir.  Saddletree's  a  great 
lawyer  ?" 

"I  have  no  person's  word  for  it  but  his  own,"  answered 
Butler  dryly;  "but  undoubtedly  he  best  understands  his 
own  qualities." 

"Umph !"  replied  the  taciturn  Dumbiedikes,  in  a  tone 
which  seemed  to  say,  "Mr.  Butler,  I  take  your  meaning." 
"In  that  case,"  he  pursued,   "I'll  employ  my  ain  man  o' 


166  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAiSr 

business,  Nichil  Novit  (auld  jSTichil's  son,  and  amaist  as 
gleg  as  his  father),  to  agent  Effie's  plea/' 

And  having  thus  displayed  more  sagacity  than  Butler 
expected  from  him,  he  courteously  touched  his  gold-laced 
cocked  hat,  and  by  a  punch  on  the  ribs,  conveyed  to  Rory 
Bean,  it  was  his  rider's  pleasure  that  he  should  forthwith 
proceed  homeward;  a  hint  which  the  quadruped  obeyed 
with  that  degree  of  alacrity  with  which  men  and  animals 
interpret  and  obey  suggestions  which  entirely  correspond 
with  their  own  inclinations. 

Butler  resumed  his  pace,  not  without  a  momentary  re- 
vival of  that  jealousy,  which  the  honest  Laird's  attention 
to  the  family  of  Deans  had  at  different  times  excited  in 
his  bosom.  But  he  was  too  generous  long  to  nurse  any 
feeling  which  was  allied  to  selfishness.  '^He  is,"  said 
Butler  to  himself,  ''rich  in  what  I  want;  why  should  I 
feel  vexed  that  he  has  the  heart  to  dedicate  some  of  his 
pelf  to  render  them  services,  which  I  can  only  form  the 
empty  wish  of  executing?  In  God's  name,  let  us  each  do 
what  we  can.  May  she  be  but  happy! — saved  from  the 
misery  and  disgrace  that  seems  impending — Let  me  but 
find  the  means  of  preventing  the  fearful  experiment  of 
this  evening,  and  farewell  to  other  thoughts,  though  my 
heart-strings  break  in  parting  with  them!" 

He  redoubled  his  pace,  and  soon  stood  before  the  door 
of  the  Tolbooth,  or  rather  before  the  entrance  where  the 
door  had  formerly  been  placed.  His  interview  with  the 
mysterious  stranger,  the  message  to  Jeanie,  his  agitating 
conversation  with  her  on  the  subject  of  breaking  off  their 
mutual  engagements,  and  the  interesting  scene  with  old 
Deans,  had  so  entirely  occupied  his  mind  as  to  drown  even 
recollection  of  the  tragical  event  whieh  he  had  witnessed 
the  preceding  evening.  His  attention  was  not  recalled  to 
it  by  the  groups  who  stood  scattered  on  the  street  in  con- 
versation, which  they  hushed  when  strangers  approached, 
or  by  the  bustling  search  of  the  agents  of  the  city  police, 
supported  by  small  parties  of  the  military,  or  by  the 
appearance  of  the  Guard-House>  before  which  were  treble 
sentinels,  or,  finally,  by  the  subdued  and  intimidated 
looks  of  the  lower  orders  of  society,  who,  conscious  that 
they  were  liable  to  suspicion,  if  they  were  not  guilty  of 
accession   to   a   riot   likely   to   be   strictly   inquired    into, 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  1G7 

grlided  about  with  an  humble  and  dismayed  aspect,  like 
men  whose  spirits  being  exhausted  in  the  revel  and  the 
danf2:ers  o^^  a  desperate  debauch  over  night,  or  nerve- 
shaken,  timorous,  and  unenterprising  on  the  succeeding 
day. 

Xone  of  these  symptoms  of  alarm  and  trepidation  struck 
Butler,  whose  mind  was  occupied  with  a  different,  and  to 
him  still  more  interesting  subject,  until  he  stood  before 
the  entrance  to  the  prison,  and  saw  it  defended  by  a 
double  file  of  grenadiers,  instead  of  bolts  and  bars.  Their 
'"Stand,  stand !''  the  blackened  appearance  of  the  doorless 
gateway,  and  the  winding  staircase  and  apartments  of 
the  Tolbooth,  now  open  to  the  public  eye,  recalled  the 
whole  proceedings  of  the  eventful  night.  Upon  his  re- 
questing to  speak  with  Effie  Deans,  the  same  tall,  thin, 
silver-haired  turnkey,  whom  he  had  seen  on  the  preceding 
evening,   made  his   appearance. 

'T  think,"  he  replied  to  Butler's  request  of  admission, 
with  true  Scottish  indirectness,  "ye  will  be  the  same  lad 
that  was  for  in  to  see  her  yestreen?" 

Butler  admitted  he  was  the  same  person. 

''And  I  am  thinking,"  pursued  the  turnkey,  "that  ye 
speered  at  me  when  we  locked  up,  and  if  we  locked  up 
earlier  on  account  of  Porteous?" 

"Very  likely  I  might  make  some  such  observation,"  said 
Butler;  ''but  the  question  now  is,  can  I  see  Effie  Deans?" 

"I  dinna  ken — gang  in  by,  and  up  the  turnpike  stair, 
and  turn  till  the  ward  on  the  left  hand." 

The  old  man  followed  close  behind  him,  with  his  keys 
in  his  hand,  not  forgetting  even  that  huge  one  which  had 
once  opened  and  shut  the  outward  gate  of  his  dominions, 
though  at  present  it  was  but  an  idle  and  useless  burden. 
No  sooner  had  Butler- entered  the  room  to  which  he  was 
directed,  than  the  experienced  hand  of  the  warder  selected 
the  proper  key,  and  locked  it  on  the  outside.  At  first 
Butler  conceived  this  man(j?uvre  was  only  an  effect  of  the 
man's  habitual  and  official  caution  and  jealousy.  But 
when  he  heard  the  hoarse  connnand,  "Turn  out  the 
guard!"  and  immediately  afterward  heard  the  clash  of 
sentinel's  arms,  as  he  was  ])osted  at  the  door  of  his  apart- 
ment, he  again  called  out  to  the  turnkey,  ^'My  good 
friend,  I  have  business  of  some  consequence  witli    Effie 


168  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Deans,  and  I  beg  to  see  her  as  soon  as  possible."  No 
answer  was  returned.  'Tf  it  be  against  your  rules  to 
admit  me,"  repeated  Butler,  in  a  stili  louder  tone,  "to  see 
the  prisoner,  I  beg  you  will  tell  me  so,  and  let  me  go 
about  my  business. — Fugii  irrevocabile  tempusr  mut- 
tered he  to  himself. 

"If  ye  had  business  to  do,  ye  suld  hae  dune  it  before 
ye  cam  here,"  replied  the  man  of  keys  from  the  outside; 
"ye'll  find  it's  easier  wunnin  in  than  wunnin  out  here — 
there's  sma'  likelihood  o'  another  Porteous-mob  coming  to 
rabble  us  again — the  law  will  baud  her  ain  now,  neighbor, 
and  that  ye'll  find  to  your  cost." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  sir?"  retorted  Butler. 
"You  must  mistake  me  for  some  other  person.  My  name 
is  Reuben  Butler,  preacher  of  the  gospel." 

"I  ken  that  weel  eneugh,"  said  the  turnkey. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  know  me,  I  have  a  right  to  know 
from  you  in  return,  what  warrant  you  have  for  detain- 
ing me;  that,  I  know,  is  the  right  of  every  British 
subject." 

"Warrant?"  said  the  jailor, — "the  warrant's  awa  to 
Libberton  wi'  twa  sheriff  officers  seeking  ye.  If  ye  had 
staid  at  hame,  as  honest  men  should  do,  ye  wad  hae  seen 
the  warrant;  but  if  ye  come  to  be  incarcerated  of  your 
ain  accord,  wha  can  help  it,  my  jo  ?" 

"So  I  cannot  see  Effie  Deans,  then,"  said  Butler;  "and 
you  are  determined  not  to  let  me  out?" 

"Troth  will  I  no,  neighbor,"  answered  the  old  man  dog- 
gedly; "as  for  Effie  Deans,  ye'll  hae  eneugh  ado  to  mind 
your  ain  business,  and  let  her  mind  hers;  and  for  letting 
you  out,  that  maun  be  as  the  magistrate  will  determine. 
And  fare  ye  weel  for  a  bit,  for  I  maun  see  Deacon  Saw- 
yers put  on  ane  or  twa  o'  the  doors  that  your  quiet  folk 
broke  down  yesternight,  Mr.  Butler." 

There  was  something  in  this  exquisitely  provoking,  but 
there  was  also  something  darkly  alarming.  To  be  im- 
prisoned, even  on  a  false  accusation,  has  something  in  it 
disagreeable  and  menacing  even  to  men  of  more  consti- 
.  tutional  courage  than  Butler  had  to  boast;  for  although 
he  had  much  of  that  resolution  which  arises  from  a  sense 
of  duty  and  an  honorable  desire  to  discharge  it,  yet,  as 
his  imagination  was  lively,  and  his  frame  of  body  delicate, 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  169 

he  was  far  from  possessing  that  cool  insensibility  to 
daniror  ^vhi^h  is  the  happy  portion  of  men,  stronger  of 
heahh,  more  firm  nerves,  and  less  acute  sensibility.  An 
indistinct  idea  of  peril,  which  he  could  neither  under- 
stand nor  ward  off,  seemed  to  float  before  his  eyes.  He 
tried  to  think  over  the  events  of  the  preceding  night,  in 
hopes  of  discovering  some  means  of  explaining  or  vindi- 
cating his  conduct  for  appearing  among  the  mob,  since 
it  immediately  occurred  to  him  that  his  detention  must 
be  founded  on  that  circumstance.  And  it  was  with  anxi- 
ety that  he  found  he  could  not  recollect  to  have  been 
under  the  observation  of  any  disinterested  witness  in  the 
attempts  that  he  made  from  time  to  time  to  expostulate 
with  the  rioters,  and  to  prevail  on  them  to  release  him. 
The  distress  of  Deans's  family,  the  dangerous  rendezvous 
which  Jeanie  had  formed,  and  which  he  could  not  now 
hope  to  interrupt,  had  also  their  share  in  his  unpleasant 
reflections.  Yet  impatient  as  he  was  to  receive  an 
eclaircissement  upon  the  cause  of  his  confinement,  and  if 
possible  to  obtain  his  liberty,  he  was  affected  with  a 
trepidation  which  seemed  no  good  omen,  when,  after  re- 
maining an  hour  in  this  solitary  apartment,  he  received 
a  summons  to  attend  the  sitting  magistrate.  He  was 
conducted  from  prison  strongly  guarded  by  a  party  of 
soldioi^,  with  a  parade  of  precaution,  that,  however  ill- 
timed  and  unnecessary,  is  generally  displayed  after  an 
event,  which  such  precaution,  if  used  in  time,  might  have 
prevented. 

He  was  introduced  into  the  Council  Chamber,  as  the 
place  is  called  where  the  magistrates  hold  their  sittings, 
and  which  was  then  at  a  little  distance  from  the  prison. 
One  or  two  of  the  senators  of  the  city  were  present,  and 
seemed  about  to  engage  in  the  examination  of  an  indi- 
vidual who  was  brought  forward  to  the  foot  of  the  long 
green-covered  table  round  which  the  council  usually  as- 
sembled. "Is  that  the  preacher?"  said  one  of  the  magis- 
trates, as  the  city  officer  in  attendance  introduced  P>utler. 
The  man  answered  in  the  affirmative.  "Let  him  sit  down 
there  for  an  instant;  we  will  finish  this  man's  business 
very  briefly." 

"Shall  we  remove  Mr.  Butler?"  queried  the  assistant. 

'Tt  is  not  necessary — Let  him  remain  where  he  is." 


170  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Butler  accordingly  sate  down  on  a  bench  at  the  bottom 
of  the  apartment,  attended  by  one  of  his  keepers. 

It  was  a  large  room,  partially  and  imperfectly  lighted; 
but  by  chance,  or  the  skill  of  the  architect,  who  might 
happen  to  remember  the  advantage  which  might  occasion- 
ally be  derived  from  such  an  arrangement,  one  window 
was  so  placed  as  to  throw  a  strong  light  at  the  foot  of  the 
table  at  which  prisoners  were  usually  posted  for  examina- 
tion, while  the  upper  end,  where  the  examinants  sate, 
was  thrown  into  shadow.  Butler's  eyes  were  instantly 
fixed  on  the  person  whose  examination  was  at  present  pro- 
ceeding, in  the  idea  that  he  might  recognize  some  one  of 
the  conspirators  of  the  former  night.  But  though  the 
features  of  this  man  were  sufficiently  marked  and  strik- 
ing, he  could  not  recollect  that  he  had  ever  seen  them 
before. 

The  complexion  of  this  person  was  dark,  and  his  age 
somewhat  advanced.  He  wore  his  own  hair,  combed 
smooth  do\vn,  and  cut  very  short.  It  was  jet  black,  slight- 
ly curled  by  nature,  and  already  mottled  with  gray.  The 
man's  face  expressed  rather  knavery  than  vice,  and  a 
disposition  to  sharpness,  cunning  and  roguery,  more  than 
the  traces  of  stormy  and  indulged  passions.  His  sharp, 
quick  black  eyes,  acute  features,  ready  sardonic  smile, 
promptitude,  and  eifrontery,  gave  him  altogether  what  is 
called  among  the  vulgar  a  knowing  look,  which  generally 
implies  a  tendency  to  knavery.  At  a  fair  or  market,  you 
could  not  for  a  moment  have  doubted  that  he  was  a 
horse-jockey,  intimate  with  all  the  tricks  of  his  trade; 
yet  had  you  met  him  on  a  moor,  you  would  not  have 
apprehended  any  violence  from  him.  His  dress  was  also 
that  of  a  horse-dealer — a  close-buttoned  jock<ey-coat,  or 
wrap-rascal,  as  it  was  then  termed,  with  huge  metal  but- 
tons, coarse  blue  upper  stockings,  called  boot  hose,  be- 
cause supplying  the  place  of  boots,  and  a  slouched  hat. 
He  only  wanted  a  loaded  whip  under  his  arm  and  a  spur 
upon  one  heel,  to  complete  the  dress  of  the  character  he 
seemed  to  represent. 

"Your  name  is  James  Ratcliffe?"  said  the  magistrate. 

"Ay — always  wi'  your  honor's  leave." 

"That  is  to  say,  you  could  find  me  another  name  if  I 
did  not  like  that  one?" 


THE    HEART    OF    :\IID-LOTHTAN  171 

''Twenty  to  pick  and  choose  upon,  always  with  your 
honor's  leave,"  resumed  the  respondent. 

"But  James  Ratclitfe  is  your  present  name? — what  is 
your  trade?" 

*T  canna  just  say,  distinctly,  that  I  have  what  yc  wad 
ca'  preceesely  a  trade." 

"But,"  repeated  the  magistrate,  "what  are  your  means 
of  living — your  occupation?" 

^'Hout  tout — your  honor,  wi'  your  leave,  kens  that  as 
weel  as  I  do,"  replied  the  examined. 

"No  matter,  I  want  to  hear  you  describe  it,"  said  the 
examinant. 

"Me  describe? — and  to  your  honors — far  be  it  from 
Jemmie  RatclifFe,"  responded  the  prisoner. 

"Come,  sir,  no  trifling — I  insist  on  an  answer." 

*'Weel,  sir,"  replied  the  declarant,  "I  maun  make  a 
clean  breast,  for  ye  see,  wi'  your  leave,  I  am  looking  for 
favor —  Describe  my  occupation,  quo'  ye? — troth  it  will 
be  ill  to  do  that,  in  a  feasible  way,  in  a  place  like  this — 
but  what  is't  again  that  the  aught  command  says?" 

"Thou  shalt  not  steal,"  answered  the  magistrate. 

"Are  you  sure  o'  that  ?"  replied  the  accused. — "Troth, 
then,  my  occupation,  and  that  command,  arc«sair  at  odds, 
for  I  read  it,  thou  shalt  steal;  and  that  makes  an  unco' 
difference,  though  there's  but  a  wee  bit  word  left  out." 

"To  cut  the  matter  short,  Ratclitfe.  you  have  been  a 
most  notorious   thief,"   said   the  examinant. 

"I  believe  Highlands  and  Lowlands  ken  that,  sir,  forby 
England  and  Holland,"  replied  Ratclitfe,  with  the  greatest 
composure  and  effrontery. 

"And  what  d'ye  think  the!  end  of  your  calling  will  be?" 
said  the  magistrate. 

"I  could  have  gien  a  braw  guess  yesterday — but  I  dinna 
ken  sae  weel  the  day,"  answered  the  prisoner. 

"And  what  would  you  have  said  would  have  been  your 
end.  had  you  been  asked  the  question  yesterday?" 

"Just  the  gallows,"  replied  RatcliiTe,  with  the  same  com- 
posure. 

"You  are  a  daring  rascal,  sir,"  said  the  magistrate; 
"and  how  dare  you  hope  times  are  mended  with  you 
to-day  ?" 

"Dear,  your  honor,"  answered  Ratcliife,  "there's  muckle 


172  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

difference  between  lying  in  prison  under  sentence  of  death, 
and  staying  there  of  ane's  a  in  proper  accord,  when  it 
would  have  cost  a  man  naething  to  get  up  and  rin  awa — 
what  was  to  hinder  me  from  stepping  out  quietly,  when 
the  rabble  walked  awa  wi'  Jock  Porteous  yestreen? — and 
does  your  honor  really  thiuk  I  staid  on  purpose  to  be 
hanged  ?" 

^T  do  not  know  what  you  may  have  proposed  to  your- 
self; but  I  know,"  said  the  magistrate,  "what  the  law 
proposes  for  you,  and  that  is  to  hang  you  next  Wednesday 
eight  days." 

"Na,  na,  your  honor,"  said  Ratcliffe  firmly,  "craving 
your  honor's  pardon,  I'll  ne'er  believe  that  till  I  see  it. 
I  have  kend  the  Law  this  mony  a  year,  and  mony  a 
thrawart  job  T  hae  had  wi'  her  first  and  last;  but  the 
auld  jaud  is  no  sae  ill  as  that  comes  to — I  aye  fand  her 
bark  waur  than  her  bite." 

"And  if  you  do  not  expect  the  gallows,  to  which  you  are 
condemned  (for  the  fourth  time  to  my  knowledge),  may  I 
beg  the  favor  to  know,"  said  the  magistrate,  "what  it  is 
that  you  do  expect,  in  consideration  of  your  not  having 
taken  your  flight  with  the  rest  of  the  jail-birds,  which  I 
will  admit  was  a  line  of  conduct  little  to  have  been 
expected  ?" 

"I  would  never  have  thought  for  a  moment  of  staying 
in  that  auld  gousty  toom  house,"  answered  Ratcliffe,  "but 
that  use  and  wont  had  just  gien  me  a  fancy  to  the  place, 
and  I'm  just  expecting  a  bit  post  in't." 

"A  post?"  exclaimed  the  magistrate;  "a  whipping-post, 
I  suppose,  you  mean?" 

"Na,  na,  sir,  I  had  nae  thoughts  o'  a  whuppin-post. 
After  having  been  four  times  doomed  to  hang  by  the 
neck  till  I  was  dead,  I  think  I  am  far  beyond  being  whup- 
pit." 

"Then,  in  Heaven's  name,  what  did  you  expect?" 

"Just  the  post  of  under-turnkey,  for  I  understand  there's 
a  vacancy,"  said  the  prisoner;  "I  wadna  think  of  asking 
the  lockman's  ^  place  ower  his  head ;  it  wadna  suit  me 
sae  weel  as  ither  folk,  for  I  never  could  put  a  beast  out 
o'  the  way,  much  less  deal  wi'  a  man." 

"That's  something  in  your  favor,"  said  the  magistrate, 

*  Note   V. — Hangman,  or   Lockman. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  173 

making:  exactly  the  inference  to  which  RatclifFe  was  de- 
sirous to  lead  him,  thoiigrh  he  mantled  his  art  with  an 
affectation  of  oddity.  "But,"  continued  the  mag-istrate, 
''how  do  you  think  you  can  be  trusted  with  a  charge  in 
the  prison,  when  j^ou  have  broken  at  your  own  hand  half 
the  jails  in  Scotland?" 

''Wi'  your  honor's  leave,"  said  Eatcliffe,  "if  I  kend  sae 
weel  how  to  wun  out  mysell,  it's  like  I  wad  be  a'  the  better 
a  hand  to  keep  other  folk  in.  I  think  they  wad  ken  their 
business  weel  that  held  me  in  when  I  wanted  to  be  out, 
or  wan  out  when  I  wanted  to  haud  them  in." 

The  remark  seemed  to  strike  the  magistrate,  but  he 
made  no  farther  immediate  observation,  only  desired  Rat- 
cliffe  to  be  removed. 

When  this  darin^r,  and  yet  sly  freebooter,  was  out  of 
hearing-,  the  magistrate  asked  the  city-clerk,  "what  he 
thought  of  the  fellow's  assurance?" 

"It's  no  for  me  to  say,  sir,"  replied  the  clerk;  "but  if 
James  Ratcliffe  be  inclined  to  turn  to  good,  there  is  not 
a  man  e'er  came  within  the  ports  of  the  burgh  could  be  of 
sae  muckle  use  to  the  Good  Town  in  the  thief  and  lock-up 
line  of  business.    I'll  speak  to  Mr.  Sharpitlaw  about  him." 

Upon  Ratcliffe's  retreat.  Butler  was  placed  at  the  table 
for  examination.  The  magistrate  conducted  his  inquiry 
civilly,  but  yet  in  a  manner  which  gave  him  to  understand 
that  he  labored  under  strong  suspicion.  With  a  frankness 
which  at  once  became  his  calling  and  character,  Butler 
avowed  his  involuntary  presence  at  the  murder  of  Por- 
teous,  and,  at  the  request  of  the  magistrate,  entered  into 
a  minute  detail  of  the  circum^ances  which  attended  that 
unhappy  affair.  All  the  particulars,  such  as  we  have  nar- 
rated, were  taken  minutely  down  by  the  clerk  from  Butler's 
dictation. 

When  the  narrative  was  concluded,  the  cross-examina- 
tion commenced,  which  it  is  a  painful  task  even  for  the 
most  candid  witness  to  undergo,  since  a  story,  especially 
if  connected  with  agitating  and  alarming  incidents,  can 
scarce  be  so  clearly  and  distinctly  told  but  that  some 
ambiguity  and  doubt  may  be  thrown  upon  it  by  a  string 
of  successive  and  minute  interrogatories. 

The  magistrate  commenced  by  observing,  that  Butler 
had  said  his  object  was  to  return  to  the  village  of  Lib- 


174  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

berton,  but  that  he  was  interrupted  by  the  mob  at  the 
West  Port.  "Is  the  West  Port  your  usual  way  of  leaTing 
town  when  you  go  to  Libberton  ?"  said  the  magistrate  with 
a  sneer. 

"No,  certainly,"  answered  Butler,  with  the  haste  of  a 
man  anxious  to  vindicate  the  accuracy  of  his  evidence; 
"but  I  chanced  to  be  nearer  that  port  than  any  other, 
and  the  hour  of  shutting  the  gates  was  on  the  point  of 
striking." 

"That  was  unlucky,"  said  the  magistrate  dryly.  "Pray, 
being,  as  you  say,  under  coercion  and  fear  of  the  lawless 
multitude,  and  compelled  to  accompany  them  through 
scenes  disagreeable  to  all  men  of  humanity,  and  more 
especially  irreconcilable  to  the  profession  of  a  minister, 
did  you  not  attempt  to  struggle,  resist,  or  escape  from 
their  violence?" 

Butler  replied,  "that  their  numbers  prevented  him  from 
attempting  resistance,  and  their  vigilance  from  effecting 
his  escape." 

"That  was  unlucky,"  again  repeated  the  magistrate,  in 
the  same  dry  inacquiescent  tone  of  voice  and  manner. 
He  proceeded  with  decency  and  politeness,  but  with  a 
stiffness  which  argued  his  continued  suspicion,  to  ask 
many  questions  concerning  the  behavior  of  the  mob,  the 
manners  and  dress  of  the  ringleaders;  and  when  he  con- 
ceived that  the  caution  of  Butler,  if  he  was  deceiving  him, 
must  be  lulled  asleep,  the  magistrate  suddenly  and  artfully 
returned  to  former  parts  of  his  declaration,  and  required 
a  new  recapitulation  of  the  circumstances,  to  the  minut- 
est and  most  trivial  point,  which  attended  each  part  of 
the  melancholy  scene.  No  confusion  or  contradiction, 
however,  occurred,  that  could  countenance  the  suspicion 
which  he  seemed  to  have  adopted  against  Butler.  x\t 
length  the  train  of  his  interrogatories  reached  Madge 
Wildfire,  at  whose  name  the  magistrate  and  town-clerk 
exchanged  significant  glances.  If  the  fate  of  the  Good 
Town  had  depended  on  her  careful  magistrate's  knowing 
the  features  and  dress  of  this  personage,  his  inquiries 
could  not  have  been  more  particular.  But  Butler  could 
say  almost  nothing  of  this  person's  features,  which  were 
disguised  apparently  with  red  paint  and  soot,  like  an  In- 
dian going  to  battle,  besides  the  projecting  shade  of  a 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIxVX  175 

curch  or  coif,  which  muffled  the  hair  of  the  supposed 
female.  He  decUired  that  he  thought  he  could  not  know 
this  Madge  Wildfire,  if  placed  before  him  in  a  different 
dress,  but  that  he  believed  he  might  recognize  her  voice. 

The  magistrate  requested  him  again  to  state  by  what 
gate  he  left  the  city. 

''By  the  Cowgate  Port,"  replied  Butler. 

^'Was  that  the  nearest  road  to  Libberton?" 

"Xo,"  answered  Butler  with  embarrassment;  "but  it  was 
the  nearest  way  to  extricate  myself  from  the  mob." 

The  clerk  and  magistrate  again  exchanged  glances. 

"Is  the  Cowgate  Port  a  nearer  way  to  Libberton  from 
the  Grassmarket  than  Bristo  Port  ?" 

"Xo,"  replied  Butler;  "but  I  had  to  visit  a  friend." 

"Indeed  ?"  said  the  interrogator, — ''You  were  in  a  hurry 
to  tell  the  sight  you  had  witnessed,  I  suppose?" 

"Indeed  I  was  not,"  replied  Butler;  "nor  did  I  speak 
on  the  subject  the  whole  time  I  was  at  Saint  Leonard's 
Crags." 

"Which  road  did  you  take  to  Saint  Leonard's  Crags?" 

"By  the  foot  of  Salisbury  Crags,"  was  the  reply. 

"Indeed? — you  seem  partial  to  circuitous  routes,"  again 
said  the  magistrate.  "Whom  did  you  see  after  you  left 
the  city?" 

One  by  one  he  obtained  a  description  of  every  one  of  the 
groups  who  had  passed  Butler,  as  already  noticed,  their 
number,  demeanor,  and  appearance;  and,  at  length,  came 
to  the  circumstance  of  the  mysterious  stranger  in  the 
King's  Park.  On  this  subject  Butler  would  fain  have 
remained  silent.  But  the  magistrate  had  no  sooner  got 
a  slight  hint  concerning  the  incident,  than  he  seemed  bent 
fo  possess  himself  of  the  most  minute  particulars. 

"Look  ye,  Mr.  Butler,"  said  he,  ''you  are  a  young  man, 
and  bear  an  excellent  character;  so  much  I  will  myself 
testify  in  your  favor.  But  we  are  aware  there  has  been, 
at  times,  a  sort  of  bastard  and  fiery  zeal  in  some  of  your 
order,  and  those,  men  irreproachable  in  other  points,  which 
has  led  them  into  doing  and  count<_^nancing  great  irregu- 
larities, by  which  the  peace  of  the  country  is  liable  to 
be  shaken. — I  will  deal  plainly  with  you.  I  am  not  at 
all  satisfied  with  this  story,  of  your  setting  out  again  and 
again  to  seek  your  dwelling  by  two  several  roails,  which 


176  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

were  both  circuitous.  And,  to  be  frank,  no  one  whom  we 
have  examined  on  this  unhappy  affair,  could  trace  in  your 
appearance  anything  like  your  acting  under  compulsion. 
Moreover,  the  waiters  at  the  Cowgate  Port  observed  some- 
thing like  the  trepidation  of  guilt  in  your  conduct,  and 
declare  that  you  were  the  first  to  command  them  to  open 
the  gate,  in  a  tone  of  authorirj,  as  if  still  presiding  over 
the  guards  and  outposts  of  the  rabble,  who  had  besieged 
them  the  whole  night." 

"God  forgive  them!"  said  Butler;  'T  only  asked  free 
passage  for  myself;  they  must  have  much  misunderstood 
if  they  did  not  wilfully  misrepresent  me." 

"Well,  Mr.  Butler,"  resumed  the  magistrate,  "I  am  in- 
clined to  judge  the  best  and  hope  the  best,  as  I  am  sure 
I  wish  the  best;  but  you  must  be  frank  with  me,  if  you 
wish  to  secure  my  good  opinion,  and  lessen  the  risk  of  in- 
convenience to  yourself.  You  have  allowed  you  saw  an- 
other individual  in  your  passage  through  the  King's  Park 
to  Saint  Leonard's  Crags — I  must  know  every  word  which 
passed  betwixt  you." 

Thus  closely  pressed,  Butler,  who  had  no  reason  for  con- 
cealing what  passed  at  that  meeting,  unless  because  Jeanie 
Deans  was  concerned  in  it,  thought  it  best  to  tell  the  whole 
truth  from  beginning  to  end. 

"Do  you  suppose,"  said  the  magistrate,  pausing,  "that 
the  young  woman  will  accept  an_invitation  so  mysterious?" 

"I  fear  she  will,"  replied  Butler. 

"Why  do  you  use  the  word  fear  it?"  said  the  magis- 
trate. 

"Because  I  am  apprehensive  for  her  safety,  in  meeting, 
at  such  a  time  and  place,  one  who  had  something  of  the 
manner  of  a  desperado,  and  whose  message  was  of  a  char- 
acter so  inexplicable." 

"Her  safety  shall  be  cared  for."  said  the  magistrate. 
"Mr.  Butler,  I  am  concerned  I  cannot  immediately  dis- 
charge you  from  confinement,  but  I  hope  you  will  not  be 
long  detained. — Remove  Mr.  Butler,  and  let  him  be  pro- 
vided with  decent  accommodation  in  all  respects." 

He  was  conducted  back  to  the  prison  accordingly;  but, 
in  the  food  offered  to- him.  as  well  as  in  the  apartment  in 
which  he  was  lodged,  the  recommendation  of  the  magis- 
trate was  strictly  attended  to. 


THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  177 


CHAPTER    XIV 

Dark  and  eerie   was  the  night, 

And  lonely  was  the  way. 
As  Janet,  wi'  her  green  mantell. 

To  Miles'  Cross  she  did  gae. 

Old    Ballad. 

Leavixg  Butler  to  all  the  uncomfortable  thoujjhts  attached 
to  his  new  situation,  among  which  the  most  predominant 
was  his  feelinff  that  he  was,  by  his  confinement,  deprived 
of  all  possibility  of  assisting  the  family  at  St.  Leonard's 
in  their  greatest  need,  we  return  to  Jeanie  Deans,  who 
had  seen  him  depart,  without  an  opportunity  of  further 
explanation,  in  all  that  agony  of  mind  with  which  the 
female  heart  bids  adieu  to  the  complicated  sensations  so 
well  described  by  Coleridge, — 

Hopes,   and   fears   that  kindle  hope, 

An  undistingiiishable  throng; 
And  gentle  wishes  long  subdued — 

Subdued  and  clierish'd  If^ng. 

It  is  not  the  firmest  heart  (and  Jeanie,  under  her  russet 
rokelay,  had  one  that  would  not  have  disgraced  Cato's 
daughter)  that  can  most  easily  bid  adieu  to  these  soft  and 
mingled  emotions.  She  wept  for  a  few  minutes  bitterly, 
and  without  attempting  to  refrain  from  this  indulgence 
of  passion.  But  a  moment's  recollection  induced  her  to 
check  herself  for  a  grief  selfish  and  proper  to  her  own 
affections,  while  her  father  and  sister  were  plunged  into 
such  deep  and  irretrievable  affliction.  She  drew  from  her 
pocket  the  letter  which  had  been  that  morning  flung  into 
her  apartment  through  an  open  window,  and  the  contents 
of  which  were  as  singular  as  the  exi)ression  was  violent  and 
energetic.  "If  she  would  save  a  human  being  from  the 
most  damning  guilt,  and  all  its  desperate  consequences, 
— if  she  desired  tlie  life  and  honor  of  her  sister  to  l>e 
saved  from  the  bloody  fangs  of  an  unjust  law, — if  she 
desired  not  to  forfeit  peace  of  mind  here,  and  happiness 
hereafter,"  .such  was  the  frantic  style  of  the  conjuration, 
"she   was  entreated  to  give  a   sure,  secret,   and  solitary 


178  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

meeting  to  the  writer.  She  alone  could  rescue  him,"  so 
ran  the  letter,  "and  he  only  could  rescue  her."  He  was 
in  such  circumstances,  the  billet  farther  informed  her, 
that  an  attempt  to  bring  any  witness  of  their  conference, 
or  even  to  mention  to  her  father,  or  any  other  person 
whatsoever,  the  letter  which  requested  it,  would  inevitably 
prevent  its  taking  place,  and  insure  the  destruction  of 
her  sister.  The  letter  concluded  with  incoherent  but  vio- 
lent protestations,  that  in  obeying  this  summons  she  had 
nothing  to  fear  personally. 

The  message  delivered  to  her  by  Butler  from  the  stran- 
ger in  the  Park  tallied  exactly  with  the  contents  of  the 
letter,  but  assigned  a  later  hour  and  a  different  place  of 
meeting.  Apparently  the  writer  of  the  letter  had  been 
compelled  to  let  Butler  so  far  into  his  confidence,  for  the 
sake  of  announcing  this  change  to  Jeanie.  She  was  more 
than  once  on  the  point  of  producing  the  billet,  in  vindi- 
cation of  herself  from  her  lover's  half-hinted  suspicions. 
But  there  is  something  in  stooping  to  justification  which 
the  pride  of  innocence  does  not  at  all  times  willingly  sub- 
mit to;  besides  that  the  threats  contained  in  the  letter,  in 
case  of  her  betraying  the  secret,  hung  heavy  on  her  heart. 
It  is  probable,  however,  that,  had  they  remained  longer 
together,  she  might  have  taken  the  resolution  to  submit 
the  whole  matter  to  Butler,  and  be  guided  by  him  as  to 
the  line  of  conduct  which  she  should  adopt.  And  when, 
by  the  sudden  interruption  of  their  conference,  she  lost 
the  opportunity  of  doing  so,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been 
unjust  to  a  friend,  whose  advice  might  have  been  highly 
usefu],  and  whose  attachment  deserved  her  full  and  un- 
reserved confidence. 

To  have  recourse  to  her  father  upon  this  occasion,  she 
considered  as  highly  imprudent.  There  was  no  possibility 
of  conjecturing  in  what  light  the  matter  might  strike  old 
David,  whose  manner  of  acting  and  thinking  in  extraordi- 
nary circumstances  depended  upon  feelings  and  principles 
peculiar  to  himself,  the  operation  of  which  could  not  be 
calculated  upon  even  by  those  best  acquainted  with  him. 
To  have  requested  some  female  friend  to  have  accom- 
panied her  to  the  place  of  rendezvous,  would  perhaps  have 
been  the  most  eligible  expedient ;  but  the  threats  of  the 
writer,  that  betraying  his  secret  would  prevent  their  meet- 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTIIIAN  179 

ing  (on  which  her  sister's  safety  was  said  to  depend) 
from  takinjr  place  at  all,  would  have  deterred  her  from 
niakinf:^  such  a  confidence,  even  had  she  Known  a  person 
in  whom  she  thoujjht  it  could  with  safety  have  been 
reposed.  But  she  knew  none  such.  Their  acquaintance 
with  the  cottagers  in  the  vicinity  had  been  very  slight, 
and  limited  to  trifling  acts  of  good  neighborhood.  Jeanie 
knew  little  of  them,  and  what  she  knew  did  not  greatly 
incline  her  to  trust  any  of  them.  They  were  of  the 
order  of  loquacious  good-humored  gossips  usually  found 
in  their  situation  of  life;  and  their  conversation  had  at 
all  times  few  charms  for  a  j'oung  woman  to  whom  nature 
and  the  circumstance  of  a  solitary  life  had  given  a  depth 
of  thought  and  force  of  character  superior  to  the  frivolous 
part  of  her  sex,  whether  in  high  or  low  degree. 

Left  alone  and  separated  from  all  earthly  counsel,  she 
had  recourse  to  a  friend  and  adviser,  whose  ear  is  open 
tr)  the  cry  of  the  poorest  and  most  afflicted  of  his  people. 
She  knelt,  and  prayed  with  fervent  sincerity,  that  God 
would  please  to  direct  her  what  course  to  follow  in  her 
arduous  and  distressing  situation.  It  was  the  belief  of 
the  time  and  sect  to  which  she  belonged,  that  special 
answers  to  prayer,  differing  little  in  their  character  from 
divine  inspiration,  'were,  as  they  expressed  it,  "borne  in 
iupon  their  minds"  in  answer  to  their  earnest  petitions  in 
a  crisis  of  difficulty.  "Without  entering  into  an  abstruse 
point  of  divinity,  one  thing  is  plain;  namely,  that  the 
person  who  lays  open  his  doubts  and  distresses  in  prayer, 
with  feeling  and  sincerity,  must  necessarily,  in  the  act 
;of  doing  so,  purify  his  mind  from  the  dross  of  worldly 
l)assions  and  interests,  and  bring  it  into  that  state,  when 
the  resolutions  adopted  are  likely  to  be  selected  rather 
from  a  sense  of  duty  than  from  any  inferior  motive. 
Jeanie  arose  from  her  devotions,  with  her  heart  fortified 
to  endure  afflictions,   and  encouraged   to  face  difficulties. 

*'I  will  meet  this  unhappy  man,"  she  said  to  herself — 
"unhappy  he  must  be,  since  I  doubt  he  has  been  the  cause 
of  poor  Effie's  misfortune — but  I  will  meet  him,  be  it  for 
good  or  ill.  My  mind  shall  never  cast  up  to  me,  that,  for 
fear  of  what  might  be  said  or  done  to  myself,  I  left  that 
undone  that  might  even  yet  be  the  rescue  of  her." 

With  a  mind  greatly  composed  since  the  adoption  of  this 


180  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

resolution,  she  went  to  attend  her  father.  The  old  man, 
firm  in  the  principles  of  his  youth,  did  not,  in  outward 
appearance  at  least,  permit  a  thought  of  his  family  dis- 
tress to  interfere  with  the  stoical  reserve  of  his  counte- 
nance and  manners.  He  even  chid  his  daughter  for  hav- 
ing neglected,  in  the  distress  of  the  morning,  some  trifling 
domestic  duties  which  fell  under  her  department. 

"Why,  what  meaneth  this,  Jeanie?"  said  the  old  man — 
"The  brown  four-year-auld's  milk  is  not  seiled  yet,  nor  the 
howies  put  up  on  the  bink.  If  you  neglect  your  warldly 
duties  in  the  day  of  affliction,  what  confidence  have  I  that 
ye  mind  the  greater  matters  that  concern  salvation  ?  God 
knows,  our  bowies,  and  our  pipkins,  and  our  draps  o^ 
milk,  and  .our  bits  o'  bread,  are  nearer  and  dearer  to  us 
than  the  bread  of  life." 

Jeanie,  not  unpleased  to  hear  her  father's  thoughts  thus 
expand  themselves  beyond  the  sphere  of  his  immediate 
distress,  obeyed  him,  and  proceeded  to  put  her  household 
matters  in  order;  while  old  David  moved  from  place  to 
place  about  his  ordinary  employments,  scarce  showing, 
unless  by  a  nervous  impatience  at  remaining  long  sta- 
tionary, an  occasional  convulsive  sigh,  or  twinkle  of  the 
eyelid,  that  he  was  laboring  under  the  yoke  of  such  bitter 
affliction. 

The  hour  of  noon  came  on,  and  the  father  and  child  sat 
down  to  their  homely  repast.  In  his  petition  for  a  blessing 
on  the  meal,  the  poor  old  man  added  to  his  supplication  a 
prayer  that  the  bread  eaten  in  sadness  of  heart,  and  the 
bitter  waters  of  Marah,  might  be  made  as  nourishing  as 
those  which  had  been  poured  forth  from  a  full  cup  and  a 
plentiful  basket  and  store;  and  having  concluded  his 
benediction,  and  resumed  the  bonnet  which  he  had  laid 
"reverently  aside,"  he  proceeded  to  exhort  his  daughter  to 
eat,  not  by  example  indeed,  but  at  least  by  precept. 

"The  man  after  God's  own  heart,"  he  said,  "washed  and 
anointed  himself,  and  did  eat  bread,  in  order  to  express 
his  submission  under  a  dispensation  of  suffering,  and  it 
did  not  become  a  Christian  man  or  woman  so  to  cling  to 
creature-comforts  of  wife  or  bairns"  (here  the  words  be- 
came too  great,  as  it  were,  for  his  utterance),  "as  to 
forget  the  first  duty — submission  to  the  Divine  will." 

To  add  force  to  his  precept;  he  took  a  morsel  on  his 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTIIIAX  181 

plate,  but  nature  proved  too  strong  even  for  the  powerful 
feelings  with  which  he  endeavored  to  bridle  it.  Ashamed 
of  his  weakness,  he  started  up.  and  ran  out  of  the  house, 
with  haste  very  unlike  the  deliberation  of  his  usual  move- 
ments. In  less  than  five  minutes  he  returned,  having  suc- 
cessfully struggled  to  recover  his  ordinary  composure  of 
mind  and  countenance,  and  aifected  to  color  over  his  late 
retreat,  by  muttering  that  he  thought  he  heard  the  "young 
staig  loose  in  the  byre." 

He  did  not  again  trust  himself  with  the  subject  of  his 
former  conversation,  and  his  daughter  was  glad  to  see 
that  he  seemed  to  avoid  further  discourse  on  that  agi- 
tating topic.  The  hours  glided  on,  as  on  they  must  and 
do  pass,  whether  winged  with  joy  or  laden  with  affliction. 
The  sun  set  beyond  the  dusky  eminence  of  the  Castle, 
and  the  screen  of  western  hills,  and  the  close  of  evening 
summoned  David  Deans  and  his  daughter  to  the  family 
duty  of  the  night.  It  came  bitterly  upon  Jeanie's  recol- 
lection, how  often,  when  the  hour  of  worship  approached, 
she  used  to  watch  the  lengthening  shadows,  and  look  out 
from  the  door  of  the  house,  to  see  if  she  could  spy  her 
sister's  return  homeward.  Alas!  this  idle  and  thoughtless 
waste  of  time,  to  what  evils  had  it  not  finally  led?  and 
was  she  altogether  guiltless,  who,  noticing  Effie's  turn  to 
idle  and  light  society,  had  not  called  in  her  father's 
authority  to  restrain  her? — But  I  acted  for  the  best,  she 
again  reflected,  and  who  could  have  expected  such  a 
growth  of  evil,  from  one  grain  of  human  leaven,  in  a  dis- 
position so  kind,  and  candid,  and  generous? 

As  they  sate  down  to  the  "exercise,"  as  it  is  called,  a 
chair  happened  accidentally  to  stand  in  the  place  which 
Effie  usually  occupied.  David  Deans  saw  his  daughter's 
eyes  swim  in  tears  as  they  were  directed  toward  this  ob- 
ject, and  pushed  it  aside,  with  a  gesture  of  some  impa- 
tience, as  if  desirous  to  destroy  every  memorial  of  earthly 
interest  when  about  to  address  the  Deity.  The  portion 
of  Scripture  was  read,  the  psalm  was  sung,  the  prayer  was 
made;  and  it  was  remarkable  that,  in  discharging  these 
duties,  the  old  man  avoided  all  passages  and  expressions, 
of  which  Scripture  affords  so  many,  that  might  be  con- 
sidered as  applicable  to  his  own  domestic  misfortune.  In 
doing  so  it  was  perhaps  his  intention  to  spare  the  feelings 


182  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

of  his  daughter,  as  well  as  to  maintain,  in  outward  show 
at  least,  that  stoical  appearance  of  patient  endurance  of 
all  the  evil  which  earth  could  bring,  which  was,  in  his 
opinion,  essential  to  the  character  of  one  who  rated  all 
earthly  things  at  their  own  just  estimate  of  nothingness. 
When  he  had  finished  the  duty  of  the  evening,  he  came 
up  to  his  daughter,  wished  her  good-night,  and,  having 
done  so,  continued  to  hold  her  by  the  hands  for  half  a 
minute;  then  drawing  her  toward  him,  kissed  her  fore- 
head, and  ejaculated,  ''The  God  of  Israel  bless  you,  even 
with  the  blessings  of  the  promise,  my  dear  bairn!" 

It  was  not  either  in  the  nature  or  habits  of  David 
Deans  to  seem  a  fond  father;  nor  was  he  often  observed  to 
experience,  or  at  least  to  evince,  that  fulness  of  the  heart 
which  seeks  to  exjDand  itself  in  tender  expressions  or 
caresses  even  to  those  who  were  dearest  to  him.  On  the 
contrary,  he  used  to  censure  this  as  a  degree  of  weakness 
in  several  of  his  neighbors,  and  particularly  in  poor  widow 
Butler.  It  followed,  however,  from  the  rarity  of  such  emo- 
tions, in  this  self-denied  and  reserved  man,  that  his  chil- 
dren attached  to  occasional  marks  of  his  affection  and 
approbation  a  degree  of  high  interest  and  solemnity,  well 
considering  them  as  evidences  of  feelings  which  were  only 
expressed  when  they  became  too  intense  for  suppression 
or  concealment. 

With  deep  emotion,  therefore,  did  he  bestow,  and  his 
daughter  receive,  this  benediction  and  paternal  caress. 
"And  you,  my  dear  father,"  exclaimed  Jeanie,  when  the 
door  had  closed  upon  the  venerable  old  man,  "may  you 
have  purchased  and  promised  blessings  multiplied  upon 
you — upon  you,  who  walk  in  this  world  as  though  you 
were  not  of  the  world,  and  hold  all  that  it  can  give  or 
take  away  but  as  the  midges  that  the  sun -blink  brings  out, 
and  the  evening  wind  sweeps  away!" 

She  now  made  preparation  for  her  night-walk.  Her 
father  slept  in  another  part  of  the  dwelling,  and,  regular 
in  all  his  habits,  seldom  or  never  left  his  apartment 
when  he  had  betaken  himself  to  it  for  the  evening.  It 
was  therefore  easy  for  her  to  leave  the  house  unobserved, 
so  soon  as  the  time  approached  at  which  she  was  to  keep 
her  appointment.  But  the  step  she  was  about  to  take 
had  difficulties  and  terrors  in  her  own  eyes,  though  she 


THE    HEART    OF    :MID-L0TIIIAX  183 

had  no  reason  to  ajiprohond  her  father's  interference. 
Her  life  had  been  spent  in  the  quiet,  uniform,  and  reguhir 
seclusion  of  their  peaceful  and  monotonous  household. 
The  very  hour  which  some  damsels  of  the  present  day, 
as  well  of  her  own  as  of  higher  degree,  would  consider 
as  the  natural  period  of  commencing  an  evening  of  pleas- 
ure, brought,  in  her  opinion,  awe  and  solemnity  in  it; 
and  the  resolution  she  had  taken,  had  a- strange,  daring, 
and  adventurous  character,  to  which  she  could  hardly 
reconcile  herself  when  the  moment  approached  for  putting 
it  into  execution.  Her  hands  trembled  as  she  snooded 
her  fair  hair  beneath  the  ribbon,  then  the  only  ornament 
or  cover  which  young  unmarried  women  wore  on  their 
head,  and  as  she  adjusted  the  scarlet  tartan  screen  or 
muffler  made  of  plaid,  which  the  Scottish  women  wore, 
much  in  the  fashion  of  the  black  silk  veils  still  a  part  of 
female  dress  in  the  Netherlands.  A  sense  of  impropriety 
as  well  as  of  danger  pressed  upon  her,  as  she  lifted  the 
lat-ch  of  her  paternal  mansion  to  leave  it  on  so  wild  an 
expedition,  and  at  so  late  an  hour,  unprotected,  and  with- 
out the  knowledge  of  her  natural  guardian. 

When  she  found  herself  abroad  and  in  the  open  fields, 
additional  subjects  of  apprehension  crowded  upon  her. 
The  dim  cliffs  and  scattered  rocks,  interspersed  with  green 
sward,  through  which  she  had  to  pass  to  the  place  of  ap- 
pointment, as  they  glimmered  before  her  in  a  clear  au- 
tumn night,  recalled  to  her  memory  many  a  deed  of  vio- 
lence, which,  according  to  tradition,  had  been  done  and 
suffered  among  them.  In  earlier  days  they  had  been  the 
haunt  of  robbers  and  assassins,  the  memory  of  whose 
crimes  are  preserved  in  the  various  edicts  which  the 
council  of  the  city,  and  even  the  parliament  of  Scotland, 
had  passed  for  dispersing  their  bands,  and  insuring 
safety  to  the  lieges,  so  near  the  precincts  of  the  city. 
The  names  of  these  criminals,  and  of  their  atrocities, 
were  still  romemberod  in  traditions  of  the  scattered  cot- 
tages and  the  neighboring  suburb.  In  latter  times,  as 
we  have  already  noticed,  the  sequestered  and  broken  char- 
acter of  the  ground  rendered  it  a  fit  theatre  for  duels  and 
rencontres  among  the  fiery  youth  of  the  period.  Two 
or  three  of  these  incidents,  all  sanguinary,  and  one  of 
them  fatal  in  its  termination,  had  happened  since  Deans 


184  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

came  to  live  at  Saint  Leonard's.  His  daughter's  recol- 
lections, therefore,  were  of  blood  and  horror  as  she  pur- 
sued the  small  scarce-tracked  solitary  path,  every  step  of 
which  conveyed  her  to  a  greater  distance  from  help,  and 
deeper  into  the  ominous  seclusion  of  these  unhallowed 
precincts. 

As  the  moon  began  to  peer  forth  on  the  scene  with  a 
doubtful,  flitting,  and  solemn  light,  Jeanie's  apprehen- 
sions took  another  turn,  too  peculiar  to  her  rank  and 
country  to  remain  unnoticed.  But  to  trace  its  origin 
will  require  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER   XV 


-The    spirit   I    have    seen 


May   be  the   devil.  _    And   the   devil   has  power 
To  assume  a  pleasing  shape. 

Hamlet. 

Witchcraft  and  demonology,  as  we  have  had  already 
occasion  to  remark,  were  at  this  period  believed  in  by 
almost  all  ranks,  but  more  especially  among  the  stricter 
classes  of  Presbyterians,  whose  government,  when  their 
party  were  at  the  head  of  the  state,  had  been  much  sullied 
by  their  eagerness  to  inquire  into  and  persecute  these 
imaginary  crimes.  Now,  in  this  point  of  view  also.  Saint 
Leonard's  Crags,  and  the  adjacent  Chase,  were  a  dreaded 
and  ill-reputed  district.  Not  only  had  witches  held  their 
meetings  there,  but  even  of  very  late  years  the  enthusiast, 
or  impostor,  mentioned  in  the  Pandaemonium  of  Richard 
Bovet,  Gentleman,*  had,  among  the  recesses  of  these 
romantic  cliffs,  found  his  way  into  the  hidden  retreats 
where  the  fairies  revel  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

"With  all  these  legends  Jeanie  Deans  was  too  well  ac- 
quainted to  escape  that  strong  impression  which  they 
usually  make  on  the  imagination.  Indeed,  relations  of 
this  ghostly  kind  had  been  familiar  to  her  from  her  in- 
fancy, for  they  were  the  only  relief  which  her  father's 

*  Note  VL— The  Fairy  Boy  of  Leith. 


THE    HEART    OF    :MID-L0THIAN  185 

conversation  nfFordod  from  controversial  argument,  or  the 
gloomy  history  of  the  strivings  and  testimonies,  escapes, 
captures,  tortures,  and  executions  of  those  martyrs  of  the 
Covenant,  with  whom  it  was  his  chiefest  boast  to  say  he 
had  been  acquainted.  In  the  recesses  of  mountains,  in 
caverns,  and  in  morasses,  to  which  these  persecuted  en- 
thusiasts were  so  ruthlessly  pursued,  they  conceived  they 
had  often  to  contend  with  the  visible  assaults  of  the 
Enemy  of  mankind,  as  in  the  cities,  and  in  the  cultivated 
fields,  they  were  exposed  to  those  of  the  tyrannical  govern- 
ment and  their  soldiery.  Such  were  the  terrors  which 
inade  one  of  their  gifted  seers  exclaim,  when  his  com- 
panion returned  to  him,  after  having  left  him  alone  in  a 
haunted  cavern  in  Sorn  in  Galloway,  "It  is  hard  living  in 
this  world — incarnate  devils -above  the  earth,  and  devils 
under  the  earth!  Satan  has  been  here  since  ye  went 
away,  but  I  have  dismissed  him  by  resistance;  we  will 
be  no  more  troubled  with  him  this  night."  David  Deans 
believed  this,  and  many  other  such  ghostly  encounters 
and  victories,  on  the  faith  of  the  Ansars,  or  auxiliaries 
of  the  banished  prophets.  This  event  was  beyond  David's 
remembrance.  But  he  used  to  tell  with  great  awe,  yet 
not  without  a  feeling  of  proud  superiority  to  his  audi- 
tors, how  he  himself  had  been  present  at  a  field-meeting 
at  Crochmade,  when  the  duty  of  the  day  was  interrupted 
by  the  apparition  of  a  tall  black  man,  who,  in  the  act  of 
crossing  a  ford  to  join  the  congregation,  lost  ground, 
and  was  carried  down  apparently  by  the  force  of  the 
stream.  All  were  instantly  at  work  to  assist  him,  but 
with  so  little  success,  that  ten  or  twelve  stout  men.  who 
had  hold  of  the  rope  which  they  had  cast  in  to  his  aid, 
were  rather  in  danger  to  be  dragged  into  the  stream,  and 
lose  their  owti  lives^  than  likely  to  save  that  of  the  sup- 
posed perishing  man.  "But  famous  John  Semple  of 
Carspharn,"  David  Deans  used  to  say  with  exultation, 
"saw  the  whaup  in  the  rape. — 'Quit  the  rope,'  he  cried 
to  us  (for  I  that  was  but  a  rallant  had  a  baud  o'  the 
rape  mysell),  *it  is  the  Great  Enemy!  he  will  burn,  but 
not  drown;  his  design  is  to  disturb  the  good  wark,  by 
raising  wonder  and  confusion  in  your  minds;  to  i)ut  off 
from  your  spirits  all  that  ye  hae  heard  and  felt.' — Sae 
we  let  go  the  rape,"  said  David,  "and  he  went  adown  the 


186  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

water  screeching  and  bullering  like  a  Bull  of  Bashan,  as 
he's  ca'd  in  Scripture."  "^ 

Trained  in  these  and  similar  legends,  it  was  no  wonder 
that  Jeanie  began  to  feel  an  ill-defined  apprehension,  not 
merely  of  the  phantoms  which  might  beset  her  way,  but 
of  the  quality,  nature,  and  purpose  of  the  being  who  had 
thus  appointed  her  a  meeting,  at  a  place  and  hour  of  hor- 
ror, and  at  a  time  when  her  mind  must  be  necessarily 
full  of  those  tempting  and  ensnaring  thoughts  of  grief 
and  despair,  which  were  supposed  to  lay  sufferers  particu- 
larly open  to  the  temptations  of  the  Evil  One.  If  such 
an  idea  had  crossed  even  Butler's  well-informed  mind,  it 
was  calculated  to  make  a  much  stronger  impression  upon 
hers.  Yet  firmly  believing  the  possibility  of  an  encounter 
so  terrible  to  flesh  and  blood,  Jeanie,  with  a  degree  of 
resolution  of  which  we  cannot  sufficiently  estimate  the 
merit,  because  the  incredulity  of  the  age  has  rendered 
us  strangers  to  the  nature  and  extent  of  her  feelings, 
persevered  in  her  determination  not  to  omit  an  oppor- 
tunity of  doing  something  toward  saving  her  sister,  al- 
though, in  the  attempt  to  avail  herself  of  it,  she  might  be 
exposed  to  dangers  so  dreadful  to  her  imagination.  So, 
like  Christiana  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  when  traversing 
with  a  timid  yet  resolved  step  the  terrors  of  the  Valley 
of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  she  glided  on  by  rock  and  stone, 
"now  in  glimmer  and  now  in  gloom,"  as  her  path  lay 
through  moonlight  or  shadow,  and  endeavored  to  over- 
power the  suggestions  of  fear,  sometimes  by  fixing  her 
mind  upon  the  distressed  condition  of  her  sister,  and 
the  duty  she  lay  under  to  afford  her  aid,  should  that  be  in 
her  power;  and  more  frequently  by  recurring  in  mental 
prayer  to  the  protection  of  that  Being  to  whom  night  is 
as  noon-day. 

Thus  drowning  at  one  time  her  fears  by  fixing  her  mind 
on  a  subject  of  overpowering  interest,  and  arguing  them 
down  at  others  by  referring  herself  to  the  protection  of 
the  Deity,  she  at  length  approached  the  place  assigned 
for  this  mysterious  conference. 

It  was  situated  in  the  depth  of  the  valley  behind  Salis- 
bury Crags,  which  has  for  a  background  the  northwestern 

*  Note     VII. — Intercourse     of    the     Covenanters    with     the     Invisible 

World. 


THE    HEART    0¥    :MID-L()TH1AN  K^T 

shoulder  of  the  mountain  called  Arthur's  Seat,  on  whose 
descent  still  remain  the  ruins  of  what  was  once  a  chapel, 
or  hermitage,  dedicated  to  Saint  Anthony  the  Eremite. 
A  better  site  for  such  a  building  could  hardly  have  been 
selected;  for  the  chapel,  situated  among  the  rude  and 
pathless  cliffs,  lies  in  a  desert,  even  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  a  rich,  populous,  and  tumultuous  capital;  and 
the  hum  of  the  city  might  mingle  with  the  orisons  of 
the  recluses,  conveying  as  little  of  worldly  interest  as  if 
it  had  been  the  roar  of  the  distant  ocean.  Beneath  the 
steep  ascent  on  which  these  ruins  are  still  visible,  was, 
and  perhaps  is  still  pointed  out,  the  place  where  the 
wretch  Xicol  Muschat,  who  has  been  already  mentioned 
in  these  pages,  had  closed  a  long  scene  of  cruelty  toward 
his  unfortunate  wife,  by  murdering  her,  with  circum- 
stances of  uncommon  barbarity.*  The  execration  in 
which  the  man's  crime  was  held  extended  itself  to  the 
place  where  it  was  perpetrated,  which  was  marked  by  a 
small  cairn,  or  heap  of  stones,  composed  of  those  which 
each  chance  passenger  had  thrown  there  in  testimony  of 
abhorrence,  and  on  the  principle,  it  would  seem,  of  the 
ancient  British  malediction,  "May  you  have  a  cairn  for 
your  burial-place!" 

As  our  heroine  approached  this  ominous  and  unhal- 
lowed spot,  she  paused  and  looked  to  the  moon,  now 
rising  broad  on  the  northwest,  and  shedding  a  more  dis- 
tinct light  than  it  had  afforded  during  her  walk  thither. 
Paying  the  planet  for  a  moment,  she  then  slowly  and 
fearfully  turned  her  head  toward  the  caim,  from  which 
it  was  at  first  averted.  She  was  at  first  disappointed. 
Nothing  was  visible  beside  t<he  little  pile  of  stones,  which 
shone  gray  in  the  moonlight.  A  multitude  of  confused 
suggestions  rushed  on  her  mind.  Had  her  correspondent 
deceived  her,  and  broken  his  appointment? — was  he  too 
tardy  at  the  appointment  he  had  made? — or  had  some 
strange  turn  of  fate  prevented  him  from  aj^pearing  as  he 
proposed  ? — r)r,  if  he  were  an  unearthly  being,  as  her 
secret  apprehensions  suggested,  was  it  his  object  merely 
to  delude  her  with  false  hopes,  and  put  her  to  unneces- 
sary toil  and  terror,  according  to  the  nature,  as  she  had 

•  Note   IV.     Muschat's  Cairn. 


188  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

heard,  of  those  wandering  demons? — or  did  he  purpose 
to  blast  her  with  the  sudden  horrors  of  his  presence 
when  she  had  come  close  to  the  place  of  rendezvous? 
These  anxious  reflections  did  not  prevent  her  approach- 
ing to  the  cairn  with  a  pace  that,  though  slow,  was  de- 
termined. 

When  she  was  within  two  yards  of  the  heap  of  stones, 
a  figure  rose  suddenly  up  from  behind  it,  and  Jeanie 
scarce  forbore  to  scr.eam  aloud  at  what  seemed  the  real- 
ization of  the  most  frightful  of  her  anticipations.  She 
constrained  herself  to  silence,  however,  and,  making  a 
dead  pause,  suffered  the  figure  to  open  the  conversation, 
which  he  did  by  asking,  in  a  voice  which  agitation  ren- 
dered tremulous  and  hollow,  "Are  you  the  sister  of  that 
ill-fated  young  woman?" 

"I  am — I  am  the  sister  of  Effie  Deans!"  exclaimed 
Jeanie.  "And  as  ever  you  hope  God  will  hear  you  at 
your  need,  tell  me,  if  you  can  'tell,  what  can  be  done 
to  save  her!" 

"I  do  not  hope  God  will  hear  me  at  my  need,"  was  the 
singular  answer.  "I  do  not  deserve — I  do  not  expect  He 
will."  This  desperate  language  he  uttered  in  a  tone  calmer 
than  that  with  which  he  had  at  first  spoken,  probably 
because  the  shock  of  first  addressing  her  was  what  he  felt 
most  difficult  to  overcome.  Jeanie  remained  mute  with 
horror  to  hear  language  expressed  so  utterly  foreign  to 
all  w^hich  she  had  ever  been  acquainted  with,  that  it 
sounded  in  her  ears  rather  like  that  of  a  fiend  than  of  a 
human  being.  The  stranger  pursued  his  address  to  her 
without  seeming  to  notice  her  surprise.  "You  see  before 
you  a  wretch,  predestined  to  evil  here  and  hereafter." 

"For  the  sake  of  Heaven,  th'at  hears  and  sees  us,"  said 
Jeanie,  "dinna  speak  in  this  desperate  fashion!  The 
gospel  is  sent  to  the  chief  of  sinners — to  the  most  miser- 
able among  the  niiserable." 

"Then  should  *I  have  my  own  share  therein,"  said  the 
stranger,  "if  you  call  it  sinful  to  have  been  the  destruction 
of  the  mother  that  bore  me — of  the  friend  that  loved  me 
— of  the  woman  that  trusted  me — of  the  innocent  child 
that  was  born  to  me.  If  to  have  done  all  this  is  to  be  a 
sinner,  and  to  survive  it  is  to  be  miserable,  then  am  I 
most  guilty  and  most  miserable  indeed." 


THE    liEAKT    UF    MID-LOTHIAN  189 

"Then  you  are  the  wicked  cause  of  my  sister's  ruin?'* 
said  Jeanie,  with  a  natural  touch  of  indignation  expressed 
in  her  tone  of  voice. 

"Curse  me  for  it,  if  you  will,"  said  the  stranger;  'T 
have  well  deserved  it  at  your  hand." 

"It  is  fitter  for  me,"  said  Jeanie,  "to  pray  to  God  to 
forgive  you." 

"Do  as  you  will,  how  you  will,  or  what  you  will,"  he 
replied,  with  vehemence;  "only  promise  to  obey  my  direc- 
tions, and  save  your  sister's  life." 

"I  must  first  know,"  said  Jeanie,  "the  means  you  would 
have  me  use  in  her  behalf." 

"Xo ! — you  must  first  swear — solemnly  swear,  that  you 
will  employ  them,  when  I  make  them  known  to  you." 

"Surely,  it  is  needless  to  swear  that  I  will  do  all  that 
is  lawful  to  a  Christian,  to  save  the  life  of  my  sister?" 

'T  will  have  no  reservation!"  thundered  the  stranger; 
"lawful  or  unlawful,  Christian  or  heathen,  you  shall  swear 
to  do  my  best,  and  act  by  my  counsel,  or — you  little  know 
whose  wrath  you  provoke!" 

"I  will  think  on  what  you  have  said,"  said  Jeanie,  who 
began  to  get  much  alarmed  at  the  frantic  vehemence  of 
his  manner,  and  disputed  in  her  own  mind,  whether  she 
spoke  to  a  maniac,  or  an  apostate  spirit  incarnate — "I 
will  think  on  what  you  say,  and  let  you  ken  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow!"  exclaimed  the  man,  with  a  laugh  of  scorn 
— "And  where  will  I  be  to-morrow  ? — or,  where  will  you  be 
to-night,  unless  you  swear  to  walk  by  my  counsel? — There 
was  one  accursed  deed  done  at  this  spot  before  now;  and 
there  shall  be  another  to  match  it,  unless  you  yield  up  to 
my  guidance,  body  and  soul." 

As  he  spoke,  he  offered  a  pistol  at  the  unfortunate  young 
woman.  She  neither  fled  nor  fainted,  but  sunk  on  her 
knees,  and  asked  him  to  spare  her  life. 

"Is  that  all  you  have  to  say?"  said  the  unmoved  ruffian. 

"Do  not  dip  your  hands  in  the  blood  of  a  defenceless 
creature  that  has  trusted  to  you,"  said  Jeanie,  still  on  her 
knees. 

"Is  that  all  you  can  say  for  your  life? — Have  you  no 
promise  to  give? — Will  you  destroy  your  sister,  and  compel 
me  to  shed  more  blood?" 


190  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

"I  can  promise  nothing,"  said  Jeanie,  "which  is  un- 
lawful for  a  Christian." 

He  cocked  the  weapon,  and  held  it  toward  her. 

"May  God  forgive  you!"  she  said,  pressing  her  hands 
forcibly  against  her  eyes. 

"D n !"  muttered  the  man ;  and,  turning  aside  from 

her,  he  uncocked  the  pistol,  and  replaced  it  in  his  pocket. 
"I  am  a  villain,"  he  said,  "steeped  in  guilt  and  wretched- 
ness, but  not  wicked  enough  to  do  you  any  harm!  I  only 
wished  to  terrify  you  into  my  measures — She  hears  me 
not — she  is  gone! — Great  God!  what  a  wretch  am  I  be- 


come 


I" 


As  he  spoke,  she  recovered  herself  from  an  agony  which 
partook  of  the  bitterness  of  death;  and,  in  a  minute  or 
two,  through  the  strong  exertion  of  her  natural  sense 
and  courage,  collected  herself  sufficiently  to  understand 
he  intended  her  no  personal  injury. 

"No!"  he  repeated;  "I  would  not  add  to  the  murder  of 
your  sister,  and  of  her  child,  that  of  any  one  belonging 
to  her! — Mad,  frantic,  as  I  am,  and  unrestrained  by 
either  fear  or  mercy,  given  up  to  the  possession  of  an 
evil  being,  and  forsaken  by  all  that  is  good,  I  would  not 
hurt  you,  were  the  world  offered  me  for  a  bribe!  But, 
for  the  sake  of  all  that  is  dear  to  you,  swear  you  will 
follow  my  counsel.  Take  this  weapon,  shoot  me  through 
the  head,  and  with  your  own  hand  revenge  your  sister's 
wrong,  only  follow  the  course — the  only  course,  by  which 
her  life  can  be  saved." 

"Alas !  is  she  innocent  or  guilty  ?" 

"She  is  guiltless — guiltless  of  everything,  but  of  having 
trusted  a  villain! — Yet,  had  it  not  been  for  those  that 
were  worse  than  I  am — yes,  worse  than  I  am,  though  I 
am  bad   indeed*— this  misery  had  not  befallen." 

"And  my  sister's  child — does  it  live?"  said  Jeanie. 

"No;  it  was  murdered — the  new-born  infant  was  bar- 
barously murdered,"  he  uttered  in  a  low,  yet  stern  and 
sustained  voice; — "but,"  he  added  hastily,  "not  by  her 
knowledge  or  consent." 

.  "Then,  why  cannot  the  guilty  be  brought  to  justice,  and 
the  innocent  freed?" 

"Torment  me  not  with  questions  which  can  tecrve  no 
purpose,"  he  sternly  replied — "The  deed  was  done  by  those 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  lUl 

who  are  far  enougrh  from  pursuit,  and  safe  enough  from 
discovery! — No  one  can  save  Effie  but  yourself." 

"Woe's  me!  how  is  it  in  my  power?"  asked  Jeanie,  in 
despondency. 

''Hearken  to  me! — You  have  sense — you  can  apprehend 
my  meaninpr — I  will  trust  you.  Your  sister  is  innocent  of 
the  crime  charged  against  her " 

"Thank  God  for  that !"  said  Jeanie. 

"Be  still  and  hearken ! — The  person  who  assisted  her 
in  her  illness  murdered  the  child ;  but  it  was  without  the 
mother's  knowledge  or  consent.  She  is  therefore  guiltless, 
as  guiltless  as  the  unhappy  innocent,  that  but  gasped  a 
few  minutes  in  this  unhappy  world — the  better  was  its 
hap  to  be  so  soon  at  rest.  She  is  innocent  as  that  infant, 
and  yet  she  must  die — it  is  impossible  to  clear  her  of 
the  law!" 

"Cannot  the  wretches  be  discovered,  and  given  up  to 
punishment?"  said  Jeanie. 

"Do  you  think  you  will  persuade  those  who  are  hard- 
ened in  guilt  to  die  to  save  another? — Is  that  the  reed 
you  would  lean  to?" 

"But  you  said  there  was  a  remedy,"  again  gasped  out 
the  terrified  young  woman. 

"There  is,"  answered  the  stranger,  "and  it  is  in  your 
own  hands.  The  blow  which  the  law  aims  cannot  be 
broken  by  directly  encountering  it,  but  it  may  be  turned 
aside.  Xou  saw  your  sister  during  the  period  preceding 
the  birth  of  her  child — what  is  so  natural  as  that  she 
should  have  mentioned  her  condition  to  you?  The  doing 
^o  would,  as  their  cant  goes,  take  the  case  from  under 
the  statute,  for  it  removes  the  quality  of  concealment. 
I  know  their  jargon,  and  have  had  sad  cause  to  know  it; 
and  the  quality  of  concealment  is  essential  to  this  statu- 
tory offence.*  Nothing  is  so  natural  as  that  Effie  should 
have  mentioned  her  condition  to  you — think — reflect — I 
am  positive  that  she  did." 

"Woe's  me!"  said  Jeanie,  "she  never  spoke  to  me  on 
the  subject,  but  grat  sorely  when  I  spoke  to  her  about 
her  altered  looks,  and  the  change  on  her  spirits." 

"You    asked    her   questions   on    the    subject?"   he   said 

*  Not.-    VTTT  — riiiM    ^r^rder. 


192  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

eagerly.  "You  must  remember  her  answer  was,  a  con- 
fession that  she  had  been  ruined  by  a  villain — yes,  lay  a 
strong  emphasis  on  that — a  cruel  false  villain  call  it — any 
other  name  is  unnecessary;  and  that  she  bore  under  her 
bosom  the  consequences  of  his  guilt  and  her  folly;  and 
that  he  had  assured  her  he  would  provide  safely  for  her 
approaching  illness.  Well,  he  kept  his  word !"  These  last 
words  he  spoke  as  it  were  to  himself,  and  with  a  violent 
gesture  of  self-accusation,  and  then  calmly  proceeded, 
"You  will  remember  all  this? — That  is  all  that  is  neces- 
sary to  be  said." 

"But  I  cannot  remember,"  answered  Jeanie,  with  sim- 
plicity, "that  which  Effie  never  told  me." 

"Are  you  so  dull — so  very  dull  of  apprehension?"  he 
exclaimed,  suddenly  grasping  her  arm,  and  holding  it  firm 
in  his  hand.  "I  tell  you"  (speaking  between  his  teeth, 
and  under  his  breath,  but  with  great  energy),  "you  must. 
remember  that  she  told  you  all  this,  whether  she  ever  said 
a  syllable  of  it  or  no.  You  must  repeat  this  tale,  in  which 
there  is  no  falsehood,  except  in  so  far  as  it  was  not  told 
to  you,  before  these  Justices — Justiciary — whatever  they 
call  their  bloodthirsty  court,  and  save  your  sister  from 
being  murdered,  and  them  from  becoming  murderers.  Do 
not  hesitate — I  pledge  life  and  salvation,  that  in  saying 
what  I  have  said,  you  will  only  speak  the  simple  truth." 

"But,"  replied  Jeanie,  whose  judgment  was  ^o  accu- 
rate not  to  see  the  sophistry  of  this  argument,  "I  shall  be 
man-sworn  in  the  very  thing  in  which  my  testimony  is 
wanted,  for  it  is  the  concealment  for  which  poor  Effie  is 
blamed,  and  you  would  make  me  tell  a  falsehood  anent 
it." 

"I  see,"  he  said,  "my  first  suspicions  of  you  were  right, 
and  that  you  will  let  your  sister,  innocent,  fair,  and  guilt- 
less, except  in  trusting  a  villain,  die  the  death  of  a  mur- 
deress, rather  than  bestow  the  breath  of  your  mouth  and 
the  sound  of  your  voice  to  save  her." 

"I  wad  ware  the  best  blood  in  my  body  to  keep  her 
skaithless,"  said  Jeanie,  weeping  in  bitter  agony,  "but  I 
canna  change  right  into  wrang,  or  make  that  true  which  is 
false." 

"Foolish,  hard-hearted  girl,"  said  the  stranger,  "are  you 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  193 

afraid  of  what  they  may  do  to  you?  I  tell  you,  even  the 
retainers  of  the  law,  who  course  life  as  greyhounds  do 
hares,  will  rejoice  at  the  escape  of  a  creature  so  young — 
so  beautiful;  that  they  will  not  suspect  your  tale;  that 
if  they  did  suspect  it,  they  would  consider  you  as  deserv- 
ing, not  only  of  forgiveness,  but  of  praise  for  your  natural 
aflFection." 

"It  is  not  man  I  fear,"  said  Jeanie,  looking  upward; 
"the  God,  whose  name  I  must  call  on  to  witness  the  truth 
of  what  I  say,  He  will  know  the  falsehood." 

"And  He  will  know  the  motive,"  said  the  stranger, 
eagerly;  "He  will  know  that  you  are  doing  this — not  for 
lucre  of  gain,  but  to  save  the  life  of  the  innocent,  and 
prevent  the  commission  of  a  worse  crime  than  that  which 
the  law  seeks  to  avenge." 

"He  has  given  us  a  law,"  said  Jeanie,  "for  the  lamp  of 
our  path;  if  we  stray  from  it  we  err  against  knowledge — I 
may  not  do  evil,  even  that  good  may  come  out  of  it.  But 
you — you  that  ken  all  this  to  be  true,  which  I  must  take 
on  your  word — you  that,  if  I  understood  what  you  said 
e'en  now.  promised  her  shelter  and  protection  in  her 
travail,  why  do  not  you  step  forward,  and  bear  leal  and 
soothfast  evidence  in  her  behalf,  as  ye  may  with  a  clear 
conscience  ?" 

"To  whom  do  you  talk  of  a  clear  conscience,  woman  ?" 
said  he,  with  a  sudden  fierceness  which  renewed  her  ter- 
rors,— "to  me? — I  have  not  known  one  for  many  a  year. 
Bear  witness  in  her  behalf? — a  proper  witness,  that,  even 
to  speak  these  few  words  to  a  woman  of  so  little  conse- 
quence as  yourself,  must  choose  such  an  hour  and  such 
a  place  as  this.  When  you  see  owls  and  bats  flj'  abroad, 
like  larks,  in  the  sunshine,  you  may  expect  to  see  such  as 
I  am  in  the  assemblies  of  men. — Hush — listen  to  that." 

A  voice  was  heard  to  sing  one  of  those  wild  and  mo- 
notonous strains  so  common  in  Scotland,  and  to  which  the 
natives  of  that  country  chant  their  old  ballads.  The  sound 
ceased — then  came  nearer,  and  was  renewed;  the  stranger 
listened  at-tontively,  still  holding  Jeanie  by  the  arm  (as 
she  stood  by  him  in  motionless  terror),  as  if  to  prevent 
her  interrupting  the  strain  by  speaking  or  stirring.  When 
the  sounds  were  renewed.  th<«-  words  were  distinctly  au- 
dible: 


194  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

"When  the  glede's  in  the  blue  cloud, 
The  lavrock  lies  still; 
When  the  hound's  in  the  green-wood, 
The  hind  keeps  the  hill." 

The  person  who  sung  kept  a  strained  and  powerful 
voice  at  its  highest  pitch,  so  that  it  could  be  heard  at  a 
very  considerable  distance.  As  the  song  ceased,  they  might 
hear  a  stifled  sound,  as  of  steps  and  whispers  of  persons 
approaching  them.  The  song  was  again  raised,  but  the 
tune  was  changed: 

"0  sleep  ye  sound,  Sir  James,  she  said, 
When  ye  suld  rise  and  ride? 
There's  twenty  men,  wi'  bow  and  blade. 
Are  seeking  where  ye  hide." 

"I  dare  stay  no  longer,"  said  the  stranger;  "return 
home,  or  remain  till  they  come  up — you  have  nothing  to 
fear — but  do  not  tell  j^ou  saw  me — your  sister's  fate  is  in 
your  hands."  So  saying,  he  turned  from  her,  and  with  a 
swift,  yet  cautiously  noiseless  step,  plunged  into  the  dark- 
ness on  the  side  most  remote  from  the  sounds  which  they 
heard  approaching,  and  was  soon  lost  to  her  sight.  Jeanie 
remained  by  the  cairn  terrified  beyond  expression,  and 
uncertain  whether  she  ought  to  fly  homeward  with  all  the 
speed  she  could  exert,  or  wait  the  approach  of  those  who 
were  advancing  toward  her.  This  uncertainty  detained 
her  so  long,  that  she  now  distinctly  saw  two  or  three 
figures  already  so  near  to  her,  that  a  precipitate  flight 
would  have  been  equally  fruitless  and  impolitic. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

-She  speaks  things  in  doubt, 


That   carry   bvit    half   sense;    her   speech   is   nothing, 

Yet  the  unshaped  use  of  it  doth  move 

The   hearers   to   collection;    they   aim   at   it. 

And  botch  the  words  up  to  fit  their  own   thoughts. 

Hamlet. 

Like  the  digressive  poet  Ariosto,  I  find  myself  under  the 
necessity  of  connecting  the  branches  of  my  story,  by 
taking  up  the  adventures  of  another  of  the  characters,  • 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  195 

and  bringiiip:  them  down  to  the  point  at  which  we  have 
left  those  of  Jeanie  Deans.  It  is  not,  perhaps,  the  most 
artificial  way  of  tellinc:  a  story,  but  it  has  the  advantag:e 
of  sparinp:  the  necessity  of  resuming  what  a  knitter  (if 
stocking-looms  have  left  such  a  person  in  the  land)  might 
call  our  "dropped  stitches";  a  labor  in  which  the  au- 
thor generally  toils  much,  without  getting  credit  for  his 
pains. 

"I  could  risk  a  sma'  wad."  said  the  clerk  to  the  mngi>- 
trate,  "that  this  rascal  Ratcliffe.  if  he  were  insured  of  his 
neck's  safety,  could  do  more  than  ony  ten  of  our  police- 
people  and  constables,  to  help  us  to  get  out  of  this  scrape 
of  Porteous's.  He  is  weel  acquent  wi'  a'  the  smugglers, 
thieves,  and  banditti  about  Edinburirh :  and,  indeed,  ho 
may  be  called  the  father  of  a'  the  misdoers  in  Scotland, 
for  he  has  passed  amang  them  for  these  twenty  years  by 
the  name  of  Daddie  Rat." 

"A  bonny  sort  of  a  scoundrel,"  replied  the  magistrate, 
"to  expect  a  place  under  the  city!" 

"Begging  your  honor's  pardon,"  said  the  city's  pro- 
curator-fiscal, upon  whom  the  duties  of  superintendent  of 
police  devolved,  "Mr.  Fairscrieve  is  perfectly  in  the  right. 
It  is  just  sic  as  RatcliiTe  that  the  town  needs  in  my  de- 
partment; an'  if  sae  be  that  he's  disposed  to  turn  his 
knowledge  to  the  city  service,  ye'll  no  find  a  better  man. — 
Ye'll  get  nae  saints  to  be  searchers  for  uncustomed  goods, 
or  for  thieves  and  sic  like; — and  your  decent  sort  of  men, 
religious  professors,  and  broken  tradesmen,  that  are  put 
into  the  like  o'  sic  trust,  can  do  nae  gude  ava.  They  are 
feared  for  this,  and  they  are  scrupulous  about  that,  and 
they  are  na  free  to  tell  a  lie,  though  it  may  be  for  the 
benefit  of  the  city;  and  they  dinna  like  to  be  out  at  ir- 
regular hours,  and  in  a  dark  cauld  night,  and  they  like 
a  clout  ower  the  croun  far  waur;  and  sae  between  the 
fear  o'  Ood,  and  the  fear  o'  man,  and  the  fear  o'  getting 
a  sair  throat,  or  sair  banes,  there's  a  dozen  o'  our  city 
folk,  baith  waiters,  and  officers,  and  constables,  that  can 
find  out  naothing  but  a  wee  bit  skulduddery  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  Kirk-treasurer.  Jock  Porteous,  that's  stiff  and 
stark,  puir  fallow,  was  worth  a  dozen  o'  them;  for  he 
never  had  ony  fears,  or  scruples,  or  doubts,  or  conscience, 
about  onything  your  honors  bade  him." 


196  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

"He  was  a  gude  servant  o'  the  town,"  said  the  Bailie, 
"though  he  was  an  ower  free-living  man.  But  if  you 
really  think  this  rascal  Ratcliife  could  do  us  ony  service 
in  discovering  these  malefactors,  I  would  insure  him  life, 
reward,  and  promotion.  It's  an  awsome  thing  this  mis- 
chance for  the  city,  Mr.  Fairscrieve.  It  will  be  very  ill 
taen  wi'  abune  stairs.  Queen  Caroline,  God  bless  her! 
is  a  woman — at  least  I  judge  sae,  and  it's  nae  treason  to 
speak  my  mind  sae  far — and  ye  maybe  ken  as  weel  as  I 
do,  for  ye  hae  a  housekeeper,  though  ye  arena  a  married 
man,  that  women  are  wilfu',  and  downa  bide  a  slight. 
And  it  will  sound  ill  in  her  ears,  that  sic  a  confused  mis- 
take suld  come  to  pass,  and  naebody  sae  muckle  as  to  be 
put  into  the  Tolbooth  about  it." 

"If  ye  thought  that,  sir,"  said  the  procurator-fiscal, 
"we  could  easily  clap  into  the  prison  a  few  blackguards 
upon  suspicion.  It  will  have  a  gude  active  look,  and  I 
hae  aye  plenty  on  my  list,  that  wadna  be  a  hair  the  waur 
of  a  week  or  twa's  imprisonment;  and  if  ye  thought  it 
no  strictly  just,  ye  could  be  just  the  easier  wi'  them  the 
neist  time  they  did  onything  to  deserve  it;  they  arena 
the  sort  to  be  lang  o'  geeing  ye  an  opportunity  to  clear 
scores  wi'  them  on  that  account." 

"I  doubt  that  will  hardly  do  in  this  case,  Mr.  Sharpit- 
law,"  returned  the  town-clerk;  "they'll  run  their  letters,* 
and  be  adrift  again,  before  ye  ken  where  ye  are." 

"I  will  speak  to  the  Lord  Provost,"  said  the  magistrate, 
"about  Batcliffe's  business.  Mr.  Sharpitlaw,  you  will  go 
with  me  and  receive  instructions — something  may  be 
made  too  out  of  this  story  of  Butler's  and  his  unknown 
gentleman — I  know  no  business  any  man  has  to  swagger 
about  in  the  King's  Park,  and  call  himself  the  devil,  to 
the  terror  of  honest  folks,  who  dinna  care  to  hear  mair 
about  the  devil  than  is  said  from  the  pulpit  on  the  Sab- 
bath. I  cannot  think  the  preacher  himsell  wad  be  head- 
ing the  mob,  though  the  time  has  been,  they  hae  been  as 
forward  in  a  bruilzie  as  their  neighbors." 

"But  these  times  are  lang  by,"  said  Mr.  Sharpitlaw. 
"In  my  father's  time,  there  was  mair  search  for  silenced 
ministers   about  the  Bow-head   and   the   Covenant   Close, 

*  A  Scottish  form  of  procedure,  answering,  in  some  respects,  to  the 
English   Habeas   Corpus. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAX  197 

and  all  the  tents  of  Kedar,  as  they  ca'd  the  dwellings  o' 
the  godly  in  those  days,  than  there's  now  for  thieves  and 
vagabonds  in  the  Laigh  Calton  and  the  back  o'  the  Canon- 
gate.  But  that  time's  weel  by,  an  it  bide.  And  if  the 
Bailie  will  get  me  directions  and  authority  from  the 
Provost,  I'll  speak  wi'  Daddie  Rat  mysell :  for  I'm  think- 
ing I'll  make  mair  out  o'  him  than  ye'll  do." 

Mr.  Sharpitlaw,  being  necessarily  a  man  of  high  trust, 
was  accordingly  empowered^  in  the  course  of  the  day,  to 
make  such  arrangements  as  might  seem  in  the  emergency 
most  advantageous  for  the  Good  Town.  He  went  to  the 
jail  accordingly,  and  saw  Ratcliffe  in  private. 

The  relative  positions  of  a  police-officer  and  a  professed 
thief  bear  a  different  complexion,  according  to  circum- 
stances. The  most  obvious  simile  of  a  hawk  pouncing 
upon  his  prey  is  often  least  applicable.  Sometimes  the 
guardian  of  justice  has  the  air  of  a  cat  watching  a  mouse, 
and,  while  he  suspends  his  purpose  of  springing  upon  the 
pilferer,  takes  care  so  to  calculate  his  motions  that  he 
shall  not  get  beyond  his  power.  Sometimes,  more  passive 
still,  he  uses  the  art  of  fascination  ascribed  to  the  rattle- 
snake, and  contents  himself  with  glaring  on  the  victim, 
through  all  his  devious  flutterings;  certain  that  his  terror, 
confusion,  and  disorder  of  ideas,  will  bring  him  into  his 
jaws  at  last.  The  interview  between  Ratcliffe  and  Sharp- 
itlaw had  an  aspect  different  from  all  these.  They  sate 
for  five  minutes  silent,  on  opposite  sides  of  a  small  table, 
and  looked  fixedly  at  each  other,  with  a  sharp,  knowing, 
and  alert  cast  of  countenance,  not  unmingled  with  an 
inclination  to  laugh,  and  resembled  more  than  anything 
else,  two  dogs,  wha,  preparing  for  a  game  at  romps,  are 
seen  to  couch  down,  and  remain  in  that  posture  for  a 
little  time,  watching  each  other's  movements,  and  wait- 
ing which  shall  begin  the  game. 

"So,  Mr.  Ratcliffe,"  said  the  officer,  conceiving  it  suited 
his  dignity  to  speak  first,  "you  give  up  business,  I  find  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Ratcliffe;  "I  shall  be  on  that  lay 
nae  mair — and  1  think  that  will  save  your  folk  some 
trouble,  Mr.  Shan^itlaw?" 

"Which  Jock  Dalgloish"  (then  finisher  of  the  law  in 
the  Scottish  metroi)olis)  "wad  save  them  as  easily,"  re- 
turned the  procurator-fiscal. 


198  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

"Ay;  if  I  waited  in  the  Tolbooth  here  to  have  him  fit 
my  cravat — but  that's  an  idle  way  o'  speaking,  Mr.  Sharp- 
itlaw." 

"Why,  I  suppose  you  know  you  are  under  sentence  of 
death,  Mr.  EatcliflFe?"  replied  Mr.  Sharpitlaw. 

"Ay,  so  are  a',  as  that  worthy  minister  said  in  the 
Tolbooth  Kirk  the  day  Kobertson  wan  off;  but  naebody 
kens  when  it  will  be  executed.  Gude  faith,  he  had  better 
reason  to  say  sae  than  he  dreamed  of,  before  the  play 
was  played  out  that  morning!" 

"This  Kobertson,"  said  Sharpitlaw,  in  a  lower  and 
something  like  a  "^confidential  tone,  "d'ye  ken,  Rat — that 
is,  can  ye  gie  us  ony  inkling  where  he  is  to  be  heard 
tell  o'?" 

"Troth,  Mr.  Sharpitlaw,  I'll  be  frank  wi'  ye;  Robertson 
is  rather  a  cut  abune  me — a  wild  deevil  he  was,  and 
mony  a  daft  prank  he  played;  but  except  the  Collector's 
job  that  Wilson  led  him  into,  and  some  tuilzies  about  run 
goods  wi'  the  gangers  and  the  waiters,  he  never  did  ony- 
thing  that  came  near  our  line  o'  business." 

"Umph!  that's  singular,  considering  the  company  he 
kept." 

"Fact,  upon  my  honor  and  credit,"  said  Ratcliffe 
gravely.  "He  keepit  out  o'  our  little  bits  of  affairs,  and 
that's  mair  than  Wilson  did;  I  hae  dune  business  wi' 
Wilson  afore  now.  But  the  lad  will  come  on  in  time; 
there's  nae  fear  o'  him;  naebody  will  live  the  life  he  has 
led  but  what  he'll  come  to  sooner  or  later." 

"Who  or  what  is  he,  Ratcliffe?  you  know,  I  suppose?" 
said  Sharpitlaw. 

"He's  better  born,  I  judge,  than  he  cares  to  let  on;  he's 
been  a  soldier,  and  he  has  been  a  play-actor,  and  I  watna 
what  he  has  been  or  hasna  been,  for  as  young  as  he  is,  sae 
that  it  had  daffing  and  nonsense  about  it." 

"Pretty  pranks  he  has  played  in  his  time,  I  suppose?" 

"Ye  may  say  that,"  said  Ratcliffe,  with  a  sardonic 
smile;   "and"   (touching  his  nose),   "a  deevil  amang  the 

"Like  enough,"  said  Sharpitlaw.  "Weel,  Ratcliffe,  I'll 
no  stand  niffering  wi'  ye;  ye  ken  the  way  that  favor's 
gotten  in  my  office;  ye  maun  be  usefu'." 

"Certainly,  sir,  to  the  best  of  my  power — naething  for 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  199 

naethin^^I  kon  the  nile  of  the  offi<'o."  >:iiM  iho  fx-dfprf.l- 
ator. 

''Now  the  principal  thing  in  hand  e'en  now,"  said  the 
official  person,  "is  this  job  of  Porteous's;  an  ye  can  gie 
us  a  lift — why,  the  inner  turnkey's  office  to  besrin  wi'.  and 
the  captainship  in  time — ye  understand  my  meanincr?" 

*'Ay.  troth  do  I.  sir;  a  wink's  as  gnde  as  a  nod  to  a  blind 
horse;  but  Jock  Port<^ous's  job — Lord  help  ye! — I  was 
under  sentence  the  haill  time.  God!  but  I  couldna  help 
laughing  when  I  heard  Jock  skirling  for  mercy  in  the 
lads'  hands!  ^fony  a  het  skin  ye  hae  gien  me,  neighbor, 
thought  I,  tak  "ye  what's  gaun :  time  about's  fair  play, 
ye'll  ken  now  what  hanging's  gude  for." 

"Come,  come,  this  is  all  nonsense.  Rat,"  said  the  pro- 
curator. "Ye  canna  creep  out  at  that  hole,  lad;  you  must 
speak  to  the  point,  you  understand  me,  if  you  want  favor; 
gif-gaf  makes  gude  friends,  ye  ken." 

"But  how  can  I  speak  to  the  point,  as  your  honor  ca's 
it,"  said  Ratcliffe  demurely,  and  with  an  air  of  great  sim- 
plicity, "when  ye  ken  I  was  under  sentence,  and  in  the 
strong-room  a'  the  while  the  job  was  going  on?" 

"And  how  can  we  turn  ye  loose  on  the  public  again, 
Daddie  Rat,  unless  ye  do  or  say  something  to  deserve  it?" 

"Well,  then,  d — n  it !"  answered  the  criminal,  "since  it 
maun  be  sae,  I  saw  Geordie  Robertson  among  the  boys 
that  brake  the  jail;  I  suppose  that  will  do  me  some  gude?" 

"That's  speaking  to  the  purpose,  indeed,"  said  the  office- 
bearer; "and  now.  Rat,  where  think  ye  we'll  find  him?" 

"Deil  haet  o'  me  kens,"  said  Ratcliffe;  "he'll  no  likely 
gang  back  to  ony  o'  his  auld  howffs ;  he'll  be  off  the  coun- 
try by  this  time.  He  has  gude  friends  some  gate  or  other, 
for  a'  the  life  he's  led;  he's  been  weel  educate.'' 

"He'll  grace  the  gallows  the  better,"  said  Mr.  Sharpit- 
law;  "a  desperate  dog,  to  murder  an  officer  of  the  city  for 
doing  his  duty!  Wha  kens  wha's  turn  it  might  be  next? 
— But  you  saw  him  plainly  ?" 

"As  plainly  as  I  see  you." 

"How  was  he  dressed?"  said  Sharpitlaw. 

"I  couldna  weel  see;  something  of  a  woman's  bit  mutch 
on  his  head ;  but  ye  never  saw  sic  a  ca'-throw.  Ane 
couldna  hae  een  to  a'thing." 

"But  did  he  speak  to  no  one?"  said  Sharpitlaw. 


200  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

"They  were  a'  speaking  and  gabbling  throu^  other," 
said  Ratclili'e,  who  was  obviously  unwilling  to  carry  his 
evidence  farther  than  he  could  possibly  help. 

"This  will  not  do,  Ratclilfe,"  said  the  procurator;  "you 
must  speak  out — out — out/'  tapping  the  table  emphati- 
cally, as  he  repeated  that  impressive  monosyllable. 

"It's  very  hard,  sir,''  said  the  prisoner;  "and  but  for  the 
under-turnkey's  place " 

"And  the  reversion  of  the  captaincy — ^the  captaincy  of 
the  Tolbooth,  man — that  is,  in  case  of  gude  behavior." 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Ratcliife,  "gude  behavior! — there's  the 
deevil.  And  then  it's  waiting  for  dead  folk's  shoon  into 
the  bargain." 

"But  Robertson's  head  will  weigh  something,"  said 
Sharpitlaw;  "something  gay  and  heavy,  Eat;  the  town 
maun  show  cause — that's  right  and  reason — and  then  ^e'll 
hae  freedom  to  enjoy  your  gear  honestly." 

"I  dinna  ken,"  said  Ratclilfe;  "it's  a  queer  way  of  be- 
ginning the  trade  of  honesty — but  deil  ma  care.  Weel, 
then,  I  heard  and  saw  him  speak  to  the  wench  Effie  Deans, 
that's  up  there  for  child-murder." 

"The  deil  ye  did?  Rat,  this  is  finding  a  mare's  nest 
wi'  a  witness. — And  the  man  that  spoke  to  Butler  in  the 
Park,  and  that  was  to  meet  wi'  Jeanie  Deans  at  Muschat's 
Cairn — whew!  lay  that  and  that  thegither!  As  sure  as 
I  live  he's  been  the  father  of  the  lassie's  wean." 

"There  hae  been  waur  guesses  than  that,  I'm  think- 
ing," observed  Ratcliffe,  turning  his  quid  of  tobacco  in 
his  cheek,  and  squirting  out  the  juice.  "I  heard  some- 
thing a  while  syne  about  his  drawing  up  wi'  a  bonny 
quean  about  the  Pleasaunts,  and  that  it  was  a'  Wilson 
could  do  to  keep  him  frae  marrying  her." 

Here  a  city  officer  entered,  and  told  Sharpitlaw  that 
they  had  the  woman  in  custody  whom  he  had  directed 
them  to  bring  before  him. 

"It's  little  matter  now,"  said  he,  "the  thing  is  taking 
another- turn;  however,  George,  ye  may  bring  her  in." 

The  officer  retired,  and  introduced,  upon  his  return,  a 
tall,  strapping  wench  of  eighteen  or  twenty,  dressed  fan- 
tastically, in  a  sort  of  blue  riding-jacket,  with  tarnished 
lace,  her  hair  clubbed  like  that  of  a  man,  a  Highland  bon- 
net, and  a  bunch  of  broken  feathers,  a  riding-skirt   (or 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  201 

petticoat)  of  scarlet  camlet,  embroidered  with  tarnished 
flowers.  Her  features  wore  coarse  and  masculine,  yet  at 
a  little  distance,  by  dint  of  very  bright,  wild-looking  black 
eyes,  an  aquiline  nose,  and  a  commanding  profile,  ap- 
peared rather  handsome.  She  flourished  the  switch  she 
held  in  her  hand.  dropi)ed  a  courtesy  as  low  as  a  lady  at  a 
birth-night  introduction,  recovered  herself  seemingly  ac- 
cording to  Touchstone's  directions  to  Audrey,  and  opened 
the  conversation  without  waiting  till  any  questions  were 
asked. 

"God  gie  your  honor  gude  e'en,  and  mony  o'  them, 
bonny  Mr.  Sharpitlaw! — Gude  e'en  to  ye,  Daddie  Ratton 
— they  tauld  me  ye  were  hanged,  man;  or  did  ye  get  out 
o'  John  Dalgleish's  hands  like  half-hangit  Maggie  Dick- 
son ?'^ 

'•Whisht,  ye  daft  jaud,"  said  Ratcliffe,  "and  hear  what's 
said  to  ye." 

"Wi'  a'  my  heart,  Ratton.  Great  preferment  for  poor 
Madge  to  be  brought  up  the  street  wi'  a  grand  man,  wi' 
a  coat  a'  passemented  wi'  worset-lace,  to  speak  wi'  pro- 
vosts, and  bailies,  and  town-clerks,  and  prokitors,  at  this 
time  o'  day — and  the  haill  town  looking  at  me  too — This 
is  honor  on  earth  for  anes !" 

"Ay,  Madge,"  said  Mr.  Sharpitlaw,  in  a  coaxing  tone; 
"and  ye're  dressed  out  in  your  braws,  I  see;  these  are  not 
your  every-days'  claiths  ye  have  on." 

"Deil  be  in  my  fingers,  then!"  said  Madge — "Eh,  sirs!" 
(observing  Butler  come  into  the  apartment),  "there's  a 
minister  in  the  Tolbooth — wha  will  ca'  it  a  graceless  place 
now? — I'se  warrant  he's  in  for  the  gude  auld  cause — but 
it's  be  nae  cause  o'  mine,"  and  off  she  went  into  a  song. 

"Hey  for  cavaliers,  ho  for  cavaliers, 
Dub  a  dub,  dub  a  dub; 
Have  at  old  Beelzebub, — 
Oliver's  squeaking  for  fear," 

"Did  ye  ever  see  that  mad  woman  before?"  said 
Sharpitlaw  to  Butler. 

"Not  to  my  knowledge,  sir,"  replied  Butler. 

"I  thought  as  much,"  said  the  procurator-fiscal,  looking 
toward  Ratcliffe,  who  answered  his  glance  with  a  nod  of 
acquiescence  and  intelligence. 


202  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

"But  that  is  Madge  Wildfire,  as  she  calls  herself,"  said 
the  man  of  law  to  Butler. 

"Ay,  that  I  am,"  said  Madge,  "and  that  I  have  been 
ever  since  I  was  something  better — Heigh  ho" — (and 
something  like  melancholy  dwelt  on  her  features  for  a 
minute) — "But  I  canna  mind  when  that  was — it  was 
lang  syne,  at  ony  rate,  and  I'll  ne'er  fash  my  thumb 
about  it. — 

"  'I  glance  like  the  wildfire  through  country  and  town ; 
I'm  seen  on  the  causeway — I'm  seen  on  the  down ; 
The  lightning  that  flashes  so  bright  and  so  free, 
Is  scarcely  so  blithe  or  so  bonny  as  me.'  " 

"Haud'your  tongue,  ye  skirling  limmer!"  said  the  of- 
ficer, who  had  acted  as  master  of  the  ceremonies  to  this 
extraordinary  performer,  and  who  was  rather  scandalized 
at  the  freedom  of  her  demeanor  before  a  person  of  Mr. 
Sharpitlaw's  importance — "baud  your  tongue,  or  I'se  gie 
ye  something  to  skirl  for!" 

"Let  her  alone,  George,"  said  Sharpitlaw,  "dinna  put 
her  out  o'  tune;  I  hae  some  questions  to  ask  her — But 
first,  Mr.  Butler,  take  another  look  at  her." 

"Do  sae,  minister — do  sae,"  cried  Madge:  "I  am  as 
weel  worth  looking  at  as  ony  book  in  your  aught. — And 
I  can  say  the  single  carritch,  "and  the  double  carritch,  and 
justification,  and  effectual  calling,  and  the  assembly  of 
divines  at  Westminster,  that  is"  (she  added  in  a  low 
tone),  "I  could  say  them  anes — but  it's  lang  syne — and 
ane  forgets,  ye  ken."  And  poor  Madge  heaved  another 
deep  sigh. 

"Weel,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sharpitlaw  to  Butler,  "what  think 
ye  now?" 

"As  I  did  before,"  said  Butler,  "that  I  never  saw  the 
poor  demented  creature  in  my  life  before." 

"Then  she  is  not  the  person  whom  you  said  the  rioters 
last  night  described  as  Madge  Wildfire?" 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Butler.  "They  may  be  near  the 
same  height,  for  they  are  both  tall,  but  I  see  little  other 
resemblance." 

"Their  dress,  then,  is  not  alike?"  said  Sharpitlaw. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Butler. 

"Madge,   my  bonny  woman,"   said   Sharpitlaw,    in   the 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  203 

same  coaxing  manner,  ''what  did  ye  do  wi'  your  i&a-day's 
claise  yesterday?" 

'T  dinna  mind,"  said  Madge. 

'•Where  was  ye  yesterday  at  e'en,  Madge?" 

"I  dinna  mind  onything  about  yesterday,"  answered 
Madge;  "ae  day  is  eneugh  for  onybody  to  wun  ower  wi' 
at  a  time,  and  ower  muckle  sometimes." 

"But  maybe,  Madge,  ye  wad  mind  something  about  it, 
if  I  was  to  gie  ye  this  half-crown?"  said  Sharpitlaw,  tak- 
ing out  the  piece  of  money. 

'"That  might  gar  me  laugh,  but  it  couldna  gar  me 
mind." 

"But,  Madge,"  continued  Sharpitlaw,  "were  I  to  send 
you  to  the  wark-house  in  Leith  Wynd,  and  gar  Jock 
Dalgleish  lay  the  tawse  on  your  back " 

"That  wad  gar  me  greet,"  said  Madge,  sobbing,  ''but 
it  couldna  gar  me  mind,  ye  ken." 

''She  is  ower  far  past  reasonable  folk's  motives,  sir," 
said  Ratcliffe,  "to  mind  siller,  or  John  Dalgleish,  or  the 
cat  and  nine  tails,  either;  but  I  think  I  could  gar  her 
tell  us  something." 

''Try  her  then,  Ratcliffe,"  said  Sharpitlaw,  "for  I  am 
tired  of  her  crazy  pate,  and  be  d — d  to  her," 

"Madge,"  said  Ratcliffe,  "hae  ye  ony  joes  now?" 

"An  onybody  ask  ye,  say  ye  dinna  ken. — Set  him  to  be 
speaking  of  my  joes,  auld  Daddie  Ratton!" 

"I  dare  say,  ye  hae  deil  ane?" 

"See  if  I  haena  then,"  said  Madge,  with  the  toss  of  the 
head  of  affronted  beauty — "there's  Rob  the  Ranter,  and 
Will  Fleming,  and  then  there's  Geordie  Robertson,  lad — 
that's  Gentleman   Geordie — what  think  ye   o'   that?" 

Ratcliffe  laughed,  and,  winking  to  the  procurator-fiscal, 
l)ursued  the  inquiry  in  his  own  way.  "But,  Madge,  the 
lads  only  like  ye  when  ye  hae  on  your  braws — they  wadna 
toiifh  you  wi'  a  pair  o'  tangs  when  you  are  in  j-our  auld 
ilka-day  rags." 

"Ye're  a  leeing  auld  sorrow  then,"  replied  the  fair  one; 
"for  CJentle  Geordie  Robertson  put  my  ilka-day's  claise 
on  his  ain  bonny  sell  yestreen,  and  gacd  a'  through  the 
town  wi'  them;  and  gawsie  and  grand  he  lookit,  like  ony 
queen  in  the  land." 

"I  dinna  believe  a   word   o't,"  said  Ratcliffe,   with   an- 


204  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

other  wnk  to  the  procurator.  ''Thae  duds  were  a'  o'  the 
color  o'  moonshine  in  the  water,  I'm  thinking,  Madge — 
The  gown  would  be  a  sky-blue  scarlet,  I'se  warrant  ye?" 

"It  was  nae  sic  thing,"  said  Madge,  whose  unretentive 
memory  let  out,  in  the  eagerness  of  contradiction,  all  that 
she  would  have  most  wished  to  keep  concealed,  had  her 
judgment  been  equal  to  her  inclination.  "It  was  neither 
scarlet  nor  sky-blue,  but  my  ain  auld  brown  threshie-coat 
of  a  short-gown,  and  my  mother's  auld  mutch,  and  my 
red  rokelay — and  he  gaed  me  a  croun  and  a  kiss  for  the 
use  o'  them,  blessing  on  his  bonny  face — though  it's  been 
a  dear  ane  to  me." 

"And  where  did  he  change  his  clothes  again,  hinnie?" 
said  Sharpitlaw,  in  his  most  conciliatory  manner. 

"The  procurator's  spoiled  a',"  observed  Ratcliffe  dryly. 

And  it  was  even  so;  for  the  question,  put  in  so  direct 
a  shape,  immediately  awakened  Madge  to  the  propriety 
of  being  reserv^ed  upon  those  very  topics  on  which  Rat- 
cliffe had  indirectly  seduced  her  to  become  communi- 
cative. 

"What  was't  ye  were  speering  at  us,  sir?"  she  resumed, 
with  an  appearance  of  stolidity  so  speedily  assumed,  as 
showed  there  was  a  good  deal  of  knavery  mixed  with  her 
folly. 

"I  asked  you,"  said  the  procurator,  "at  what  hour,  and 
to  what  place,  Robertson  brought  back  your  clothes." 

"Robertson  ? — Lord  hand  a  care  o'  us !  what  Robert- 
son ?" 

"Why,  the  fellow  we  were  spe racing  of,  Gentle  Geordie, 
as  you  call  him." 

"Geordie  Gentle!"  answered  Madge,  with  well-feigned 
amazement — "I  dinna  ken  naebody  they  ca'  Geordie 
Gentle." 

"Come,  my  jo,"  said  Sharpitlaw,  "this  will  not  do;  you 
must  tell  us  what  you  did  with  these  clothes  of  yours." 

Madge  Wildfire  made  no  answer,  unless  the  question 
may  seem  connected  with  the  snatch  of  a  song  with  which 
she  indulged  the  embarrassed  investigator : — 

"What  did  ye  wi'  the  bridal  ring — ^bridal  ring — bridal  ring? 
What  did  ye  wi'  your  wedding  ring,  ye  little  cutty  quean,  0? 
I  gied  it  till  a  sodger,  a  sodger,  a  sodger, 
I  gied  it  till  a  sodger,  an  auld  true  love  o'  minef,  0." 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  205 

Of  all  the  nia<hvomon  who  have  sung:  and  said,  since 
the  days  of  Hamlet  the  Dane,  if  Ophelia  be  the  most 
affecting:,  Madp:e  Wildfire  was  the  most  provoking. 

The  procurator-fiscal  was  in  despair.  "I'll  take  some 
measures  with  this  d — d  Bess  of  Bedlam,"  said  he,  "that 
shall  make  her  find  her  tonirue." 

"Wi'  your  favor,  sir,"  said  Ratcliffe,  "better  let  her 
mind  settle  a  little— Ye  have  aye  made  out  something." 

'"True."  said  the  ofiicial  person;  "a  brown  short-gov-n, 
mutch,  red  rokeLay — that  agrees  with  your  Madge  Wild- 
fire, Mr.  Butler  ?"  Butler  agreed  that  it  did  so.  "Yes, 
there  was  a  sufficient  motive  for  taking  this  crazy  crea- 
ture's dress  and  name,  while  he  was  about  such  a  job." 

"And  I  am  free  to  say  now "  said  Batcliffe. 

"When  you  see  it  has  come  out  without  you,"  inter- 
rupted Sharpitlaw. 

"Just  sae,  sir,"  reiterated  Ratcliffe.  "I  am  free  to  say 
now,  since  it's  come  out  otherwise,  that  these  were  the 
clothes  I  saw  Robertson  wearing  last  night  in  jail,  when 
he  was  at  the  head  of  the  rioters." 

"That's  direct  evidence,"  said  Sharpitlaw;  "stick  to 
that.  Rat — I  will  report  favorably  of  you  to  the  provost, 
for  I  have  business  for  you  to-night.  It  wears  late;  I 
must  home  and  get  a  snack,  and  I'll  be  back  in  the 
evening.  Keep  Madge  with  you,  Ratcliffe,  and  trj^  to 
get  her  into  a  good  tune  again."  So  saying,  he  left  the 
prison. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

And  some  they  whistled — and  some  they  sang, 

And   some  did   loudly  say. 
Whenever  Lord   Barnard's  horn   it  blew, 

"Away,  Musgrave,  away!" 

Ballad  of  Little  Musgrave. 

When  the  man  of  office  returned  to  the  Heart  of  Mid- 
Lothian,  he  resumed  his  conference  with  Ratcliffe,  of 
whose  experience  and  assistance  he  now  hold  himself  se- 
cure. "You  must  speak  with  this  wench.  Rat — this  Effie 
Deans — you  must   sift  her   a   wee   bit.   for   as   sure   as  a 


206  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN^ 

tether  she  will  ken  Robertson's  haunts — till  her,  Rat — 
till  her,  without  delay." 

"Craving-  your  pardon,  Mr.  Sharpitlaw,"  said  the  turn- 
key-elect, "that's  what  I  am  not  free  to  do." 

"Free  to  do,  man  ?  what  the  deil  ails  ye  now  ? — I  thought 
we  had  settled  a'  that." 

"I  dinna  ken,  sir,"  said  Ratcliffe;  "I  hae  spoken  to 
this  Effie — she's  strange  to  this  place  and  to  its  ways,  and 
to  a'  our  ways,  Mr.  Sharpitlaw;  and  she  greets,  the  silly 
tawpie,  and  she's  breaking  her  heart  already  about  this 
wild  chield;  and  were  she  the  means  o'  taking  him,  she 
wad  break  it  outright." 

"She  wunna  hae  time,  lad,"  said  Sharpitlaw;  "the 
woodie  will  hae  it's  a  in  o'  her  before  that — a  woman's 
heart  takes  a  lang  time  o'  breaking." 

"That's  according  to  the  stuff  they  are  made  o',  sir," 
replied  Ratcliffe — "But  to  make  a  lang  tale  short,  I  canna 
undertake  the  job.     It  gangs  against  my  conscience." 

"Your  conscience.  Rat?"  said  Sharpitlaw,  with  a  sneer, 
which  the  reader  will  probably  think  very  natural  upon 
the  occasion. 

"Ou  ay,  sir,"  answered  Ratcliffe  calmly,  "just  my  con- 
science; a'body  has  a  conscience,  though  it  may  be  ill 
wunnin  at  it.  I  think  mine's  as  weel  out  o'  the  gate  as 
maist  folk's  are;  and  yet  it's  just  like  the  noop  of  my 
elbow,  it  whiles  gets  a  bit  dirl  on  a  corner." 

"Weel,  Rat,"  replied  Sharpitlaw,  "since  ye  are  nice, 
I'll  speak  fo  the  hussy  mysell." 

Sharpitlaw,  accordingly,  caused  himself  to  be  intro- 
^  duced  into  the  little  dark  apartment  tenanted  by  the  un- 
fortunate Effie  Deans.  The  poor  girl  was  seated  on  her 
little  flock-bed,  plunged  in  a  deep  reverie.  Some  food 
stood  on  the  table,  of  a  quality  better  than  is  usually 
supplied  to  prisoners,  but  it  was  untouched.  The  person 
under  whose  care  she  was  more  particularly  placed  said, 
"that  sometimes  she  tasted  naething  from  the  tae  end 
of  the  four-and-twenty  hours  to  the  t'other,  except  a 
drink  of  water." 

Sharpitlaw  took  a  chair,  and,  commanding  the  turnkey 
to  retire,  he  opened  the  conversation,  endeavoring  to 
throw  into  his  tone  and  countenance  as  much  commisera- 


THE    HEART    OE    MlD-LOTHlAN  2U7 

tion  as  tliey  were  capable  of  expressing:,  for  tlie  one  was 
sharp  and  harsh,  the  other  sly,  acute,  and  selfish. 

"How's  a'  wi'  ye,  Effie  ? — How  d'ye  find  yoursell, 
hinny  ?" 

A  deep  si^rh  was  the  only  answer. 

"Are  the  folk  civil  to  ye,  Effie? — it's  my  duty  to  in- 
quire." 

"Very  civil,  sir,"  said  Effie,  compelling  herself  to  an- 
swer, yet  hardly  knowing  what  she  said. 

"And  your  victuals,"  continued  Sharpitlaw,  in  the 
same  condoling  tone — ''do  you  get  what  you  like? — or  is 
there  onything  you  would  particularly  fancy,  as  your 
health  seems  but  silly?" 

"It's  a'  very  weel,  sir,  I  thank  ye,"  said  the  poor  pris- 
oner, in  a  tcfne  how  different  from  the  sportive  vivacity 
of  those  of  the  Lily  of  St.  Leonard's ! — ''it's  a'  very  gude 
— ower  gude  for  me." 

"He  must  hae  been  a  great  villain,  Effie,  who  brought 
you  to  this  pass,"  said  Sharpitlaw. 

The  remark  was  dictated  partly  by  a  natural  feeling, 
of  which  even  he  could  not  divest  himself,  though  ac- 
customed to  practise  on  the  passions  of  others,  and  keep 
a  most  heedful  guard  over  his  own,  and  partly  by  his 
wish  to  introduce  the  sort  of  conversation  which  might 
best  serve  his  immediate  purpose.  Indeed,  upon  the 
present  occasion,  these  mixed  motives  of  feeling  and 
cunning  harmonized  together  w^onderf  ully ;  for,  said 
Sharpitlaw  to  himself,  the  greater  rogue  Robertson  is, 
the  more  will  be  the  merit  of  bringing  him  to  justice. 
"He  must  have  been  a  great  villain,  indeed,"  he  again 
reiterated;  "and  I  wish  I  had  the  skelping  o'  him." 

"I   may  blame  mysell  mair  than  him,"   said   Effie;   "I 

was  bred  up  to  ken  better;  but  he,  poor  fellow "  (she 

stopped). 

"Was  a  thorough  blackguard  a'  his  life,  I  dare  say," 
said  Sharpitlaw.  "A  stranger  he  was  in  this  country, 
and  a  or>nipanion  of  that  lawless  vagabond,  Wilson,  I 
think,  Effie?" 

"It  wad  hae  been  dearly  telling  him  that  he  had  ne'er 
seen-  Wilson's   face." 

"That's  very  true  that  you  are  saying,  Effie,"  said 
Sharpitlaw.     "Where  was't  that  Robertson  and  you  were 


208  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

used  to  howff  thegither?  Somegate  about  the  Laigh 
Calton,  I  am  thinking." 

The  simple  and  dispirited  girl  had  thus  far  followed 
Mr.  Sharpitlaw's  lead,  because  he  had  artfully  adjusted 
his  observations  to  the  thoughts  he  was  pretty  certain 
must  be  passing  through  her  own  mind,  so  that  her 
answers  became  a  kind  of  thinking  aloud,  a  mood  into 
which  those  who  are  either  constitutionally  absent  in 
mind,  or  are  rendered  so  by  the  temporary  pressure  of 
misfortune,  may  be  easily  led  by  a  skilful  train  of  sug- 
gestion. But  the  last  observation  of  the  procurator-fiscal 
was  too  much  of  the  nature  of  a  direct  interrogatory, 
and  it  broke  the  charm  accordingly. 

"What  was  it  that  I  was  saying?"  said  Effie,  starting 
up  from  her  reclining  posture,  seating  herself  upright, 
and  hastily  shading  her  dishevelled  hair  back  from  her 
wasted,  but  still  beautiful  countenance.  She  fixed  her 
eyes  boldly  and  keenly  upon  Sharpitlaw; — "You  are  too 
much  of  a  gentleman,  sir — too  much  of  an  honest  man, 
to  take  any  notice  of  what  a  poor  creature  like  me  says, 
that  can  hardly  ca'  my  senses  my  ain — God  help  me!" 

"Advantage! — I  would  be  of  some  advantage  to  you 
if  I  could,"  said  Sharpitlaw,  in  a  soothing  tone;  "and  I 
ken  naething  sae  likely  to  serve  ye,  Effie,  as  gripping  this 
rascal,  Robertson." 

"Oh,  dinna  misca'  him,  sir,  that  never  misca'd  you! — 
Robertson  ? — I  am  sure  I  had  naething  to  say  against  ony 
man  o'  the  name,  and  naething  will  I  say." 

"But  if  you  do  not  heed  your  own  misfortune,  Effie, 
you  should  mind  what  distress  he  has  brought  on  your 
family,"  said  the  man  of  law. 

"Oh,  Heaven  help  me!"  exclaimed  poor  Effie — "My 
poor  father — my  dear  Jeanie — Oh,  that's  sairest  to  bide 
of  a' !  Oh,  sir,  if  you  hae  ony  kindness — if  ye  hae  ony 
touch  of  compassion — for  a'  the  folk  I  see  here  are  as 
hard  as  the  wa'stanes — If  ye  wad  but  bid  them  let  my 
sister  Jeanie  in  the  next  time  she  ca's!  for  when  I  hear 
them  put  here  awa  frae  the  door,  and  canna  climb  up  to 
that  high  window  to  see  sae  muckle  as  her  gown-tail,  it's 
like  to  pit  me  out  o'  my  judgment."  And  she  looked  on 
him  with  a  face  of  entreaty  so  earnest,  yet  so  humble, 
that  she  fairly  shook  the  steadfast  purpose  of  his  mind. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAX  209 

"You  shall  see  your  sister,"  he  began,  ''if  you'll  tell 
me." — then  interrupting  himself,  he  added,  in  a  more 
hurried  tone, — "no,  d — n  it,  you  shall  see  your  sister 
whether  you  tell  me  anything"  or  no."  So  saying,  he  rose 
up  and  left  the  apartment. 

When  he  had  rejoined  Ratcliife,  he  observed,  "You 
are  right,  Ratton;  there's  no  making  much  of  that  lassie. 
But  ae  thing  I  have  cleared — that  is,  that  Robertson  has 
been  the  father  of  the  bairn,  and  so  I  will  wager  a  bod- 
dle  it  will  be  he  that's  to  meet  wi'  Jeanie  Deans  this  night 
at  Muschat's  Cairn,  and  there  we'll  nail  him,  Rat,  or  my 
name  is  not   Gideon   Sharpitlaw." 

"But,"  said  Ratclitfe,  perhaps  because  he  was  in  no 
hurry  to  say  anything  which  w^as  like  to  be  connected 
with  the  discovery  and  apprehension  of  Robertson,  "an 
that  were  the  case,  Mr.  Butler  wad  hae  kend  the  man  in 
the  King's  Park  to  be  the  same  person  wi'  him  in  Madge 
Wildfire's  claise,  that  headed  the  mob." 

"That  makes  nae  difference,  man,"  replied  Sharpitlaw 
— "the  dress,  the  light,  the  confusion,  and  maybe  a  touch 
o'  a  blackit  cork,  or  a  slake  o'  paint — hout,  Ratton,  I  have 
seen  ye  dress  your  ainsell,  that  the  deevil  ye  belang  to 
durstna  hae  made  oath  t'ye." 

"And  that's  true,  too,"  said  Ratcliife. 

"And  besides,  ye  donnard  carle,"  continued  Sharpit- 
law triumphantly,  "the  minister  did  say  that  he  thought 
he  knew  something  of  the  features  of  the  birkie  that 
spoke  to  him  in  the  Park,  though  he  could  not  charge 
his  memory  where  or  when  he  had  seen  them." 

"It's  evident,  then,  your  honor  will  be  right,"  said  Rat- 
cliffe. 

"Then,  Rat,  you  and  I  will  go  with  the  party  oursells 
this  night,  and  see  him  in  grips,  or  we  are  done  wi'  him." 

'T  seena  muckle  use  I  can  be  o'  to  your  honor,"  said 
Ratclitfe  reluctantly. 

"Use?"  answered  Sharpitlaw — "You  can  guide  the 
partj;— you  ken  the  ground.  Besides,  I  do  not  intend  to 
quit  sight  o'  you,  mv  good  friend,  till  I  have  him  in 
hand." 

"Weel,  sir,"  said  Ratclitfe,  but  in  no  joyful  tone  of 
acquiescence;  "ye  maun  hae  it  your  ain  way — but  mind 
he's  a  desperate  man." 


210  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAIs^ 

"We  shall  have  that  with  us,"  answered  Sharpitlaw, 
"that  will  settle  him,  if  it  is  necessary." 

"But,  sir,"  answered  Ratcliffe,  "I  am  sure  I  couldna 
undertake  to  guide  you  to  Muschat's  Cairn  in  the  night- 
time; I  ken  the  place,  as  mony  does,  in  fair  daylight, 
but  how  to  find  it  by  moonshine,  amang  sae  mony  crags 
and  stanes,  as  like  to  each  other  as  the  collier  to  the 
deil,  is  mair  than  I  can  tell.  I  might  as  soon  seek  moon- 
shine in    .-v^ater." 

"What's  the  meaning  o'  this,  Ratcliffe?"  said  Sharpit- 
law, while  he  fixed  his  eye  on  the  recusant,  with  a  fatal 
and  ominous  expression, — "Have  you  forgotten  that  you 
are  still  under  sentence  of  death?" 

"Xo,  sir,"  said  Ratcliffe,  "that's  a  thing  no  easily  put 
out  o'  memory;  and  if  my  presence  be  judged  necessary, 
nae  doubt  I  maun  gang  wi'  your  honor.  But  I  was  gaun 
to  tell  your  honor  of  ane  that  has  mair  skeel  o'  the  gate 
than  me,  and  that's  e'en  Madge  Wildfire." 

"The  devil  she  has ! — Do  you  think  me  as  mad  as  she 
is,  to  trust  to  her  guidance  on  such  an  occasion  ?" 

"Your  honor  is  the  best  judge,"  answered  Ratcliffe; 
"but  I  ken  I  can  keep  her  in  tune,  and  garr  her  baud 
the  straight  path — she  aften  sleeps  out,  or  rambles  about 
amang  thae  hills  the  hail  summer  night,  the  daft  limmer." 

"Well,  Ratcliffe,"  replied  the  procurator-fiscal,  "if  you 
think  she  can  guide  us  the  right  way — but  take  heed  to 
what  you  are  about — your  life  depends  on  your  behavior." 

"It's  a  sair  judgment  on  a  man,"  said  Ratcliffe,  "when 
he  has  ance  gane  sae  far  wrang  as  I  hae  done,  that  deil 
a  bit  he  can  be  honest,  try't  whilk  way  he  will." 

Such  was  the  reflection  of  Ratclift'e,  when  he  was  left 
for  a  few  minutes  to  himself,  while  the  retainer  of  jus- 
tice went  to  procure  a  proper  warrant,  and  give  the  neces- 
sary directions. 

The  rising  moon  saw  the  whole  party  free  from  the 
walls  of  the  city,  and  entering  upon  the  open  ground. 
Arthur's  Seat,  like  a  couchant  lion  of  immense  size — 
Salisbury  Crags,  like  a  huge  belt  or  girdle  of  granite, 
were  dimly  visible.  Holding  their  path  along  the  south- 
ern side  of  the  Canongate,  they  gained  the  Abbey  of 
Holyrood-house,  and  from  thence  found  their  way  by 
step  and  stile  into  the  King's  Park.     They  were  at  first 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  211 

four  in  number — an  officer  of  justice  and  Shari)itla\v, 
who  were  well  armed  with  pistols  and  cutlasses;  Katclitfe, 
who  was  not  trusted  with  weapons,  lest  he  mij^ht,  perad- 
venture,  have  used  them  on  the  wrong  side;  and  the 
fe<nale.  But  at  the  last  stile,  when  they  entered  the 
Chase,  they  were  joined  by  other  two  officers,  whom 
Sharpitlaw,  desirous  to  secure  sufficient  force  for  his 
purpose,  and  at  the  same  time  to  avoid  observation,  had 
directed  to  wait  for  him  at  this  place.  Ratcliffe  saw  this 
accession  of  strength  with  some  disquietude,  for  he  had 
hitherto  thought  it  likely  that  Robertson,  "who  was  a  bold, 
stout,  and  active  young  fellow,  might  have  made  his  es- 
cape from  Sharpitlaw  and  the  single  officer,  by  force  or 
agility,  without  his  being  implicated  in  the  matter.  But 
the  present  strength  of  the  followers  of  justice  was  over- 
powering, and  the  only  mode  of  saving  Robertson  (which 
the  old  sinner  was  well  disposed  to  do,  providing  always 
he  could  accomplish  his  purpose  without  compromising 
his  own  safety),  must  be  by  contriving  that  he  should 
have  some  signal  of  their  approach.  It  was  probably  with 
this  view  that  Ratclitfe  had  requested  the  addition  of 
Madge  to  the  party,  having  considerable  confidence  in  her 
propensity  to  exert  her  lungs.  Indeed,  she  had  already 
given  them  so  many  specimens  of  her  clamorous  lo- 
quacity, that  Sharpitlaw  half  determined  to  send  her 
back  with  one  of  the  officers,  rather  than  carry  forward 
in  his  company  a  person  so  extremely  ill-qualified  to  be 
a  guide  in  a  secret  expedition.  It  seemed,  too,  as  if  the 
open  air,  the  approach  to  the  hills,  and  the  ascent  of 
the  moon,  supposed  to  be  so  portentous  over  those  whose 
brain  is  infirm,  made  her  spirits  rise  in  a  degree  tenfold 
more  loquacious  than  she  had  hitherto  exhibited.  To 
silence  her  by  fair  means  seemed  impossible;  authori- 
tative commands  and  coaxing  entreaties  she  set  alike  at 
defiance,  and  threats  only  made  her  sulky,  and  altogether 
intractable. 

"Is  there  no  one  of  you,"  said  Shari^itlaw  impatiently, 
"that  knows  the  way  to  this  accursed  place — this  Nicol 
Muschat's  Cairn — excepting  this  mad  clavering  idiotf 

'*Deil  ane  o'  them  kens  it,  except  mysell,"  exclaimed 
Madge;  "how  suld  they,  the  poor  fule  cowards?  But  I 
hae  sat  on  the  grave  frae  bat-fleeing  time  till  cock-crow, 


212  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

and  liad  mony  a  fine  crack  wi'  IsTicol  Muschat  and  Ailie 
Muschat,  that  are  lying  sleeping  below." 

"The  devil  take  your  crazy  brain,"  said  Sharpitlaw; 
"will  you  not  allow  the  men  to  answer  a  question?" 

The  officers,  obtaining  a  moment's  audience  while  Rat- 
cliffe  diverted  Madge's  attention,  declared  that,  though 
they  had  a  general  knowledge  of  the  spot,  they  could  not 
undertake  to  guide  the  party  to  it  by  the  uncertain  light 
of  the  moon,  with  such  accuracy  as  to  insure  success  to 
their  expedition. 

"What  shall  we  do,  Eatcliffe?"  said  Sharpitlaw;  "if 
he  sees  us  before  we  see  him — and  that's  what  he  is  cer- 
tain to  do,  if  we  go  strolling  about,  without  keeping  the 
straight  road — we  may  bid  gude  day  to  the  job;  and  I 
would  rather  lose  one  hundred  pounds,  baith  for  the 
credit  of  the  police,  and  because  the  Provost  says  some- 
body maun  be  hanged  for  this  job  o'  Porteous,  come  o't 
what  likes." 

"I  think,"  said  Ratcliffe,  "we  maun  just  try  Madge; 
and  I'll  see  if  I  can  get  her  keepit  in  ony  better  order. 
And  at  ony  rate,  if  he  suld  hear  her  skirling  her  anld 
ends  o'  sangs,  he's  no  to  ken  for  that  that  there's  onybody 
wi'  her." 

"That's  true,"  said  Sharpitlaw;  "and  if  he  thinks  her 
alone  he's  as  like  to  come  toward  her  as  to  rin  frae  her. 
So  set  forward — we  hae  lost  ower  muckle  time  already — 
see  to  get  her  to  keep  the  right  road." 

"And  what  sort  o'  house  does  Nicol  Muschat  and  his 
wife-  keep  now  ?"  said  Ratcliffe  to  the  madwoman,  by  way 
of  humoring  her  vein  of  folly;  "they  were  but  thrawn 
folk  lang  syne,  an  a'  tales  be  true." 

"Ou,  ay,  ay,  ay — but  a's  forgotten  now,"  replied  Madge, 
in  the. confidential  tone  of  a  gossip  giving  the  history  of 
her  next-door  neighbor — "Ye  see,  I  spoke  to  them  mysell, 
and  tauld  them  byganes  suld  be  byganes — her  throat's 
sair  misguggled  and  mashackered  though;  she  wears  her 
corpse-sheet  drawn  weel  up  to  hide  it,  but  that  canna 
hinder  the  bluid  seiping  through,  ye  ken.  I  wussed  her 
to  wash  it  in  St.  Anthony's  Well,  and  that  will  cleanse 
if  onything  can — But  they  say  bluid  never  bleaches  out 
o'  linen  claith — Deacon  Sanders's  new  cleansing  draps 
winna  do't — I  tried  them  mysell  on  a  bit  rag  we  hae  at 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  213 

hame  that  was  mailed  wi'  the  bliiid  of  a  bit  skirlinp:  wean 
that  was  hurt  some  gate,  but  out  it  winna  come — Weel, 
ye'll  say  that's  queer;  but  I  will  bring  it  out  to  St.  An- 
thony's blessed  Well  some  braw  night  just  like  this,  and 
I'll  cry  up  Ailie  Muschat,  and  she  and  I  will  hae  a  grand 
bouking-washing.  and  bleach  our  claise  in  the  beams  of 
the  bonny  Lady  Moon,  that's  far  pleasanter  to  me  than 
the  sun — the  sun's  ower  het,  and  ken  ye,  cummers,  my 
brains  are  het  eneugh  already.  But  the  moon,  and  the 
dew,  and  the  night-wind,  they  are  just  like  a  caller  kail- 
blade  laid  on  my  brow;  and  whiles  I  think  the  moon  just 
shines  on  purpose  to  pleasure  me,  when  naebody  sees  her 
but  mysell." 

This  raving  discourse  she  continued  with  prodigious 
volubility,  walking  on  at  a  great  pace,  and  dragging  Rat- 
cliife  along  with  her,  while  he  endeavored,  in  appearance 
at  least,  if  not  in  reality,  to  induce  her  to  moderate  her 
voice. 

All  at  once,  she  stopped  short  upon  the  top  of  a  little 
hillock,  gazed  upward  fixedly,  and  said  not  one  word  for 
the  space  of  five  minutes.  "What  the  devil  is  the  matter 
with  her  now?"  said  Sharpitlaw  to  Ratcliife — "Can  you 
not  get  her  forward  ?" 

"Ye  maun  just  take  a  grain  of  patience  wi'  her,  sir,'^ 
said  Ratcliife.  "She'll  no  gae  a  foot  faster  than  she  likes 
hersell." 

"D — n  her,"  said  Sharpitlaw,  "I'll  take  care  she  has 
her  time  in  Bedlam  or  Bridewell,  or  both,  for  she's  both 
mad  and  mischievous." 

In  the  meanwhile,  Madge,  who  had  looked  very  pensive 
when  she  first  stopped,  suddenly  burst  into  a  vehement 
fit  of  laughter,  then  paused  and  sighed  bitterly, — then  was 
seized  with  a  second  fit  of  laughter, — then,  fixing  her  eyes 
on  the  moon,  lifted  up  her  voice  and  sung. — 

''Good  f'ven.  pood  fair  moon,  good  even  to  thee; 
I  prithee,  dear  moon,  now  show  to  me 
The  form  and  the  features,  the  speech  and  degree, 
Of  the  niiui  tliat  triK-  lover  of  mine  shall  be. 

But  I  need  not  ask  that  of  the  bonny  Lady  Moon — I  ken 
that  weel   eneugh   mysell — trueAove   though   he   wasna — 


214  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

But  naebody  shall  say  that  I  ever  tauld  a  word  about  the 
matter — But  whiles  I  wish  the  bairn  had  lived — Weel, 
God  guide  us,  there's  a  heaven  aboon  us  a' " — (here  she 
sighed  bitterly),  "and  a  bonny  moon,  and  sterns  in  it 
forby"    (and  here  she  laughed  once  more). 

"Are  we  to  stand  here  all  night?"  said  Sharpitlaw, 
very  impatiently.     "Drag  her  forward." 

"Ay,  sir,"  said  Ratcliffe,  "if  we  kend  whilk  way  to  drag 
her,  that  would  settle  it  at  ance. — Come,  Madge,  hinny," 
addressing  her,  "we'll  no  be  ifi  time  to  see  Nieol  and  his 
wdfe,  unless  ye  show  us  the  road." 

"In  troth  and  that  I  will,  Ratton,"  said  she,  seizing 
him  by  the  arm,  and  resuming  her  route  with  huge  strides, 
considering  it  was  a  female  who  took  them.  "And  I'll 
tell  ye,  Ratton,  blithe  will  Nieol  Muschat  be  to  see  ye, 
for  he  says  he  kens  weel  there  isna  sic  a  villain  out  o' 
hell  as  ye  are,  and  he  wad  be  ravished  to  hae  a  crack  wi' 
you — like  to  like,  ye  ken — it's  a  proverb  never  fails — and 
ye  are  baith  a  pair  o'  the  deevil's  peats,  I  trow — hard  to 
ken  whilk  deserves  the  hettest  corner  o'  his  ingle-side." 

Ratcliffe  was  conscience-struck,  and  could  not  forbear 
making  an  involuntary  protest  against  this  classification. 
"I  never  shed  blood,"  he  replied. 

"But  ye  hae  sauld  it,  Ratton — ye  hae  sauld  blood  mony 
a  time.  Folk  kill  wi'  the  tongue  as  weel  as  wi'  the  hand 
— wi'  the  word  as  weel  as  wi'  the  gulley! — 

"  'It  is  the  bonny  butcher  lad, 

That  wears  the  sleeves  of  blue, 
He  sells  the  flesh  on  Saturday, 
On  Friday  that  he  slew.' " 

"And  what  is  that  I  am  doing  now?"  thought  Ratcliffe. 
^'But  I'll  hae  nae  wyte  of  Robertson's  young  bluid,  if  I 
can  help  it;"  then  speaking  apart  to  Madge,  he  asked  her, 
"Whether  she  did  not  remember  ony  o'  her  auld  sangs?" 

"Mony  a  dainty  ane,"  said  Madge;  "and  blithely  can  I 
sing  them,  for  lightsome  sangs  make  merry  gate.'^  And 
she  sang — 

"When  the  glede's  in  the  blue  cloud, 
The  lavrock  lies  still ; 
When  the  hound's  in  the  green-wood, 
The  hind  keeps  the  hill." 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  215  ; 

"Silence  her  cursed  noise,  if  you  should  throttle  her,"  i 

said    Sharpitlaw;    '*!   see   somebody   yonder. — Keep   close,  ; 

my  boys,  and  creep  round  the  shoulder  of  the  height. 
George  Poinder,   stay  you  with   Ratclilfe  and  that  mad  ] 

yelling  bitch;   and  you  other  two,  come  with  me  round  j 

under  the  shadow  of  the  brae."  ' 

And   he   crept   forward   with   the   stealthy  pace   of   an  ' 

Indian  savage,  who  leads  his  band  to  surprise  an  unsus-  i 

pecting  party  of  some  hostile  tribe.     Ratcliffe  saw  them  i 

glide  off,  avoiding  the  moonlight,  and  keeping  as  much  ■ 

in  the  shade  as  possible.     "Robertson's  done  up,"  said  he  ^ 

to  himself,  "thae  young  lads  are  aye  sae  thoughtless. 
What  deevil  could  he  hae  to  say  to  Jeanie  Deans,  or  to  iX^ 
ony  woman  on  earth,  that  he  suld  gang  awa  and  get  his 
neck  raxed  for  her?  And  this  mad  quean,  after  cracking 
like  a  pengun,  and  skirling  like  a  pea-hen  for  the  haill 
night,  behoves  just  to  hae  hadden  her  tongue  when  her 
clavers  might  have  done  some  gude!  But  it's  aye  the 
way  wi'  women;  if  they  ever  hand  their  tongues  ava',  ye 
may  swear  it's  for  mischief.  I  wish  1  could  set  her  on 
again  without  this  blood-sucker  kenning  what  I  am  do- 
ing. But  he's  as  gleg  as  MacKeachan's  elshin,  that  ran 
through  sax  plies  of  bend-leather  and  half  an  inch  into 
the  king's  heel," 

He  then  began  to  hum,  but  in  a  very  low  and  suppressed 
tone,  the  first  stanza  of  a  favorite  ballad  of  Wildfire's, 
the  words  of  which  bore  some  distant  analogy  with  the 
situation  of  Robertson,  trusting  that  the  power  of  associ- 
ation would  not  fail  to  bring  the  rest  to  her  mind: 

"There's  a  bloodhound  ranging  Tinwald  wood, 
There's  liarncss  glancing  sheen; 
There's  a  maiden  sits  on  Tinwald  brae, 
And  she  sings  loud  between." 

Madge  had  no  sooner  received  the  catch-word,  than  she 
vindicated  Ratclitfe's  sagacity  by  setting  off  at  score  with 
the   song: 

"O  sleep  ye  sound.  Sir  James,  she  said. 
When  ye  suld  ris*'  and  ride? 
There's  twenty  men,  wi'  how  and  blade, 
Are  seeking  where  ye  hidi-.'' 


216  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

Though  Eatcliffe  was  at  a  considerable  distance  from 
the  spot  called  Muschat's  Cairn,  yet  his  eyes,  practised 
like  those  of  a  cat  to  penetrate  darkness,  could  mark  that 
Robertson  had  caught  the  alarm.  George  Poinder,  less 
keen  of  sight,  or  less  attentive,  was  not  aware  of  his 
flight  any  more  than  Sharpitlaw  and  his  assistants,  whose 
view,  though  they  were  considerably  nearer  to  the  cairn, 
was  intercepted  by  the  broken  nature  of  the  ground  under 
which  they  were  screening  themselves.  At  length,  how- 
ever, after  an  interval  of  five  or  six  minutes,  they  also 
perceived  that  Robertson  had  fled,  and  rushed  hastily 
toward  the  place,  while  Sharpitlaw  called  out  aloud,  in 
the  harshest  tones  of  a  voice  which  resembled  a  saw-mill 
at  work,  "Chase,  lads — chase — baud  the  brae — I  see  him 
on  the  edge  of  the  hill!"  Then  hollowing  back  to  the 
rear-guard  of  his  detachment,  he  issued  his  further  or- 
ders: "Ratcliffe,  come  here  and  detain  the  woman — 
George,  run  and  kepp  the  stile  at  the  Duke's  Walk — Rat- 
clifte,  come  here  directly — but  first  knock  out  that  mad 
bitch's  brains !" 

''Ye  had  better  rin  for  it,  Madge,"  said  Ratclifie,  "for 
it's  ill  dealing  wi'  an  angry  man." 

Madge  Wildfire  was  not  so  absolutely  void  of  common 
sense  as  not  to  understand  this  innuendo;  and  while  Rat- 
cliffe, in  seemingly  anxious  haste  of  obedience,  hastened 
to  the  spot  where  Sharpitlaw  waited  to  deliver  up  Jeanie 
Deans  to  his  custody,  she  fled  with  all  the  despatch  she 
could  exert  in  an  opposite  direction.  Thus  the  whole 
party  were  separated,  and  in  rapid  motion  of  flight  or 
pursuit,  excepting  Ratclifl^e  and  Jeanie,  whom,  although 
making  no  attempt  to  escape,  he  held  fast  by  the  cloak, 
and  who  remained  standing  by  Muschat's  Cairn. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

You  have  paid  the  heavens  your  function,  and  the  prison^f  the 
very  debt  of  your  calling.  Measure  for  Measure. 

Jeanie  Deans, — for  here  our  story  unites  itself  with  that 
part  of  the  narrative  which  broke  off  at  the  end  of  the 
fifteenth  chapter, — while  she  waited  in  terror  and  amaze- 
ment the  hasty  advance  of  three  or  four  men  toward  her. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTIIIAN  217 

\s'as  yet  more  startled  at  their  suddenly  breaking  asunder, 
and  j^ivinjx  chase  in  diiferent  directions  to  the  late  object 
of  her  terror,  who  became  at  that  moment,  though  she 
could  not  well  assign  a  reasonable  cause,  rather  the  cause 
of  her  interest.  One  of  the  party  (it  was  Sharpitlaw) 
came  straight  up  to  her,  and  saying,  "Your  name  is 
Jeanie  Deans,  and  you  are  my  prisoner,"  immediately 
added,  "but  if  you  will  tell  me  which  way  he  ran  I  will 
let  you  go." 

"I  dinna  ken,  sir,"  was  all  the  poor  girl  could  utter; 
and.  indeed,  it  is  the  phrase  which  rises  most  readily  to 
the  lips  of  any  person  in  her  rank  as  the  readiest  reply 
to   any  embarrassing  question. 

'"But,"  said  Sharpitlaw,  "ye  I'en  wha  it  was  ye  were 
speaking  wi',  my  leddy,  on  the  hill  side,  and  midnight 
sae  near;  ye  surely  ken  that,  my  bonny  woman?" 

'T  dinna  ken,  sir,"  again  iterated  Jeanie,  who  really 
did  not  comprehend  in  her  terror  the  nature  of  the  ques- 
tions which  were  so  hastily  put  to  her  in  this  moment 
of  surprise, 

"We  will  try  to  mend  your  memory  by-and-by,  hinny," 
said  Shari)itlaw,  and  shouted,  as  we  have  already  told 
the  reader,  to  Ratclilfe  to  come  up  and  take  charge  of  her, 
while  he  himself  directed  the  chase  after  Robertson,  which 
he  still  hoped  might  be  successful.  As  Ratcliffe  ap- 
])roached,  Sharpitlaw  pushed  the  young  woman  toward 
him  with  some  rudeness,  and  betaking  himself  to  the 
more  important  object  of  his  quest,  began  to  scale  crags 
and  scramble  up  ^teep  banks,  with  an  agittty  -fd  which 
his  profession  and  his  general  gravity  of  demeanor  would 
jireviously  have  argued  him  incapable.  In  a  few  minutes 
there  was  no  one  within  sight,  and  only  a  distant  halloo 
from  one  of  the  pursuers  to  the  other,  faintly  heard  on 
the  side  of  the  hill,  argued  that  there  was  any  one  within 
hearing.  Jeanie  Deans  was  left  in  the  clear  moonlight, 
standing  under  the  guard  of  a  person  of  whom  she  knew 
nothing,  and,  what  was  worse,  concerning  whom,  as  the 
r(»ader  is  well  aware,  she  could  have  learned  nothing  that 
would  not  have  increased  her  terror. 

When  all  in  the  distance  was  silent,  Ratcliffe  for  the 
first  time  addressed  her,  and  it  was  in  that  cold,  sarcastic, 
indifferent    tone    familiar    to    habitual    depravity,    whose 


218  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

crimes  are  instigated  by  custom  rather  than  by  passion. 
"This  is  a  braw  night  for  ye,  dearie,"  he  said,  attempting 
to  pass  his  arm  across  her  shoulder,  "to  be  on  the  green 
hill  wi'  your  jo."  Jeanie  extricated  herself  from  his 
grasp,  but  did  not  make  any  reply.  "I  think  lads  and 
lasses,"  continued  the  ruffian,  "dinna  meet  at  Muschat's 
Cairn  at  midnight  to  crack  nuts,"  and  he  again  attempted 
to  take  hold  of  her. 

"If  ye  are  an  officer  of  justice,  sir,"  said  Jeanie,  again 
eluding  his  attempt  to  seize  her,  "ye  deserve  to  have  your 
coat  stripped  from  your  back." 

"Very  true,  hinny,"  said  he,  succeeding  forcibly  in  his 
attempt  to  get  hold  of  her,  "but  suppose  I  should  strip 
your  cloak  oft"  first?" 

"Ye  are  more  a  man,  I  am  sure,  than  to  hurt  me,  sir," 
said  Jeanie;  "for  God's  sake,  have  pity  on  a  half -dis- 
tracted creature!" 

"Come,  come,"  said  Ratcliffe,  "you're  a  good-looking 
wench,  and  should  not  be  cross-grained.  I  was  going  to 
be  an  honest  man — but  the  devil  has  this  very  day  flung 
first  a  lawyer,  and  then  a  woman,  in  my  gate.  I'll  tell 
you  what,  Jeanie,  they  are  out  on  the  hill-side — if  you'll 
be  guided  by  me,  I'll  carry  you  to  a  wee  bit  corner  in  the 
Pleasance,  that  I  ken  o'  in  an  auld  wife's,  that  a'  the 
prokitors  o'  Scotland  wot  naething  o',  and  we'll  send 
Robertson  word  to  meet  us  in  Yorkshire,  for  there  is  a 
set  o'  braw  lads  about  the  midland  counties,  that  I  hae 
dune  business  wi'  before  now,  and  sae  we'll  leave  Mr. 
Sharpitlaw  to  whistle  on  his  thumb." 

It  was  fortunate  for  Jeanie,  in  an  emergency  like  the 
present,  that  she  possessed  presence  of  mind  and  courage, 
so  soon  as  the  first  hurry  of  surprise  had  enable'd  her  to 
rally  her  recollection.  She  saw  the  risk  she  was  in  from 
a  ruffian,  who  not  only  was  such  by  profession,  but  had 
that  evening  been  stupefying,  by  means  of  strong  liquors, 
the  internal  aversion  which  he  felt  at  the  business  on 
which  Sharpitlaw  had  resolved  to  employ  him. 

"Dinna  speak  sae  loud,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice;  "he's 
up  yonder." 

"Who? — Robertson?"    said   Ratcliffe,    eagerly. 

"Ay,"  replied  Jeanie,  "up  yonder;"  and  she  pointed  to 
the  ruins  of  the  hermitage  and  chapel. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  219 

*'By  G— d,  then,"  said  Ratcliffe,  'T'll  make  my  ain  of 
him.  either  one  way  or  other — wait  for  me  here." 

But  no  sooner  had  he  set  off,  as  fast  as  he  could  run, 
toward  the  chapel,  than  Jeanie  started  in  an  opposite  di- 
rection, over  high  and  low,  on  the  nearest  path  homeward. 
Her  juvenile  exercise  as  a  herdswoman  had  put  "life  and 
mettle"  in  her  heels,  and  never  had  she  followed  Dustie- 
foot,  when  the  cows  were  in  the  corn,  with  half  so  much 
speed  as  she  now  cleared  the  distance  betwixt  Muschat's 
Cairn  and  her  father's  cottage  at  Saint  Leonard's.  To 
lift  the  latch — to  enter — to  shut,  bolt,  and  double  bolt  the 
(Joor — to  draw  against  it  a  heavy  article  of  furniture 
(which  she  could  not  have  moved  in  a  moment  of  less 
energy),  so  as  to  make  yet  further  provision  against  vio- 
lence, was  almost  the  work  of  a  moment,  yet  done  with 
such  silence  as  equalled  the  celerity. 

Her  next  anxiety  was  upon  her  father's  account,  and 
she  drew  silently  to  the  door  of  his  apartment,  in  order 
tt3  satisfy  herself  whether  he  had  been  disturbed  by  her 
return.  He  was  awake — probably  had  slept  but  little; 
but  the  constant  presence  of  his  own  sorrows,  the  dis- 
tance of  his  apartment  from  the  outer  door  of  the  house, 
and  the  precautions  which  Jeanie  had  taken  to  conceal 
her  departure  and  return,  had  prevented  him  from  being 
sensible  of  either.  He  was  engaged  in  hi«  devotions,  and 
Jeanie  could  distinctly  hear  him  use  these  words:  "And 
for  the  other  child  Thou  hast  given  me  to  be  a  comfort 
and  stay  to  my  old  age,  "fnay  her  days  be  long  in  the  land, 
according  to  the  promise  Thou  hast  given  to  those  who 
shall  honor  father  and  mother ;  may  all  her  purchased 
and  promised  blessings  be  multiplied  upon  her;  keep  her 
in  the  watches  of  the  night,  and  in  the  uprising  of  the 
morning,  that  all  in  this  land  may  know  that  Thou  hast 
not  utterly  hid  thy  face  from  those  that  seek  Thee  in 
truth  and  in  sincerity."  He  was  silent,  but  probably 
continued  his  jjetition  in  the  strong  fervency  of  mental 
devotion. 

Ills  daughter  retired  to  her  apartment,  comforted,  that 
while  she  was  exposed  to  danger,  her  head  had  been  cov- 
ered by  the  i)rayers  of  the  just  as  by  a  helmet,  and  under 
the  strong  confidence  that  while  she  walked  worthy  of 
the  protection  of  Heaven,  she  would  experience  its  coun- 


220  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

tenance.  It  was  in  that  moment  that  a  vague  idea  first 
darted  across  her  mind,  that  something  might  yet  be 
achieved  for  her  sister's  safety,  conscious  as  she  now  was 
of  her  innocence  of  the  unnatural  murder  with  which  she 
stood  charged.  It  came,  as  she  described  it,  on  her  mind, 
\j  like  a  sun-blink  on  a  stormy  sea;  and  although  it  in- 
stantly vanished,  yet  she  felt  a  degree  of  composure 
which  she  had  not  experienced  for  many  days,  and  could 
not  help  being  strongly  persuaded  that,  by  some  means 
or  other,  she  would  be  called  upon,  and  directed,  to  work 
out  her  sister's  deliverance.  She  went  to  bed,  not  for- 
getting her  usual  devotions,  the  more  fervently  made  on 
account  of  her  late  deliverance,  and  she  slept  soundly  in 
spite  of  her  agitation. 

We  must  return  to  Ratcliffe,  who  had  started,  like  a 
greyhound  from  the  slips  when  the  sportsman  cries  hal- 
loo, so  soon  as  Jeanie  had  pointed  to  the  ruins.  Whether 
he  meant  to  aid  Robertson's  escape,  or  to  assist  his  pur- 
suers, may  be  very  doubtful;  perhaps  he  did  not  himself 
know,  but  had  resolved  to  be  guided  by  circumstances. 
He  had  no  opportunity,  however,  of  doing  either;  for  he 
had  no  sooner  surmounted  the  steep  ascent,  and  entered 
under  the  broken  arches  of  the  ruins,  than  a  pistol  was 
presented  at  his  head,  and  a  harsh  voice  commanded  him, 
in  the  king's  name,  to  surrender  himself  prisoner.  "Mr. 
Sharpitlaw!"  said  Ratcliife,  surprised,  "is  this  your 
honor?" 

"Is  it  only  you,  and  be  d — d  to  you?"  answered  the 
fiscal,  still  more  disappointed — "what  made  you  leave  the 
woman  ?" 

"She  told  me  she  saw  Robertson  go  into  the  ruins,  so 
I  made  what  haste  I  could  to  cleek  the  callant." 

"It's  all  over  now,"  said  Sharpitlaw;  "we  shall  see  no 
more  of  him  to-night;  but  he  shall  hide  himself  in  a 
bean-hool,  if  he  remains  on  Scottish  ground  without  my 
finding  him.     Call  back  the  people,  Ratcliffe." 

Ratcliffe  hollowed  to  the  dispersed  officers,  who  will- 
ingly obeyed  the  signal ;  for  probably  there  was  no  indi- 
vidual among  them  who  would  have  been  much  desirous 
of  a  rencontre  hand  to  hand,  and  at  a  distance  from  his 
comrades,  with  such  an  active  and  desperate  fellow  as 
Robertson. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTIIIAX  221 

"And  where  are  the  two  women?''  said  Sharpithiw. 
''Both  made  their  heels  serve  them,  I  suspect,"  replied 
Rateliffe,  and  he  hummed  the  end  of  an  old  song — 

"Then  hey  play  up  the  rin-awa  bride. 
For  she  has  taen  the  gee." 

"One  woman,"  said  Sharpitlaw, — for,  like  all  rogues, 
he  was  a  great  calumniator  of  the  fair  sex,* — "one  woman 
is  enough  to  dark  the  fairest  ploy  that  ever  was  planned; 
and  how  could  I  be  such  an  ass  as  to  expect  to  carry 
through  a  job  that  had  two  in  it?  But  we  know  how  to 
come  by  them  both,  if  they  are  wanted,  that's  one  good 
thing." 

Accordingly,  like  a  defeated  general,  sad  and  sulky,  he 
led  back  his  discomfited  forces  to  the  metropolis,  and  dis- 
missed them  for  the  night.  -^ . 

Tne  next  morning  early,  he  was  under  the  necessity  t5f 
making  his  report  to  the  sitting  magistrate  of  the  day. 
The  gentleman  who  occupied  the  chair  of  office  on  this 
occasion  (for  the  bailies,  Anglice,  aldermen,  take  it  by 
rotation)  chanced  to  be  the  same  hy  whom  Butler  was 
committed,  a  person  very  generally  respected  among  his 
fellow-citizens.  Something  he  was  of  a  humorist,  and 
rather  deficient  in  general  education;  but  acute,  patient 
and  upright,  possessed  of  a  fortune  acquired  by  honest 
industry,  which  made  him  perfectly  independent;  and,  in 
short,  vers^  happily  qualified  to  support  the  respectability 
of  the  office  which  he  held. 

Mr.  Middleburgh  had  just  taken  his  seat,  and  was  de- 
bating in  an  animated  manner,  with  one  of  his  colleagues, 
the  doubtful  chances  of  a  game  of  golf  which  they  had  U 
played  the  day  before,  when  a  letter  was  delivered  to  him, 
addressed  "For  Bailie  Middleburgh;  These:  to  be  for- 
warded with  speed."     It  contained  these  words: — 

"Sir, — I  know  you  to  be  a  sensible  and  a  considerate 
magistrate,  and  one  who,  as  such,  will  be  content  to  wor- 
ship God,  though  the  devil  bid  you.  I  therefore  expect 
that,    notwithstanding    tho»  signature    of    this    letter    ac- 

*  Xote    IX. — Calumniator    of    the    Fair    Sex. 


222  THE   HEART    OE   MID-LOTHIAN 

knowledges  my  share  in  an  action,  which,  in  a  proper 
time  and  place,  I  would  not  fear  either  to  avow  or  to 
justify,  you  will  not  on  that  account  reject  what  evidence 
I  place  before  you.  The  clergyman,  Butler,  is  innocent 
of  all  but  involuntary  presence  at  an  action  which  he 
wanted  spirit  to  approve  of,  and  from  which  he  endeav- 
ored, with  his  best  set  phrases,  to  dissuade  us.  But  it 
was  not  for  him  that  it  is  my  hint  to  speak.  There  is  a 
woman  in  your  jail,  fallen  under  the  edge  of  a  law  so 
cruel  that  it  has  hung  by  the  wall,  like  unscoured  armor, 
for  twenty  years,  and  is  now  brought  down  and  whetted 
to  spill  the  blood  of  the  most  beautiful  and  most  inno- 
cent creature  whom  the  walls  of  a  prison  ever  girdled  in. 
Her  sister  knows  of  her  innocence,  as  she  communicated 
to  her  that  she  was  betrayed  by  a  villain.  Oh  that  high 
Heaven 

'Would  put  in  every  honest  hand  a  whip. 

To  scourge  me  such  a  villain  through  the  world!* 

"I  write  distractedly  —  But  this  girl  —  this  Jeanie 
Deans,  is  a  peevish  puritan,  superstitious  and  scrupulous 
after  the  manner  of  her  sect;  and  I  pray  your  honor,  for 
so  my  phrase  must  go,  to  press  upon  her,  that  her  sis- 
ter's life  depends  upon  her  testimony.  But  though  she 
should  remain  silent,  do  not  dare  to  think  that  the  young 
woman  is  guilty — far  less  to  permit  her  execution.  Re- 
member the  death  of  Wilson  was  fearfully  avenged;  and 
those  yet  live  who  can  compel  you  to  drink  the  dregs  of 
your  poisoned  chalice. — I  say,  remember  Porteous, — and 
say  that  you  h*d  good  counsel  from 

"One  of  his  Slayers.^' 

The  magistrate  read  over  this  extraordinary  letter 
twice  or  thrice.  At  first  he  was  tempted  to  throw  it 
aside  as  the  production  of  a  madman,  so  little  did  "the 
scraps  from  playbooks,"  as  he  termed  the  poetical  quo- 
tation, resemble  the  correspondence  of  a  rational  being. 
On  a  re-perusal,  however,  he  thought  that,  amid  its  in- 
coherence, he  could  discover  .something  like  a  tone  of 
awakened  passion,  though  expressed  in  a  manner  quaint 
and  unusual. 


THE   HEART   OF   MID-LOTHIAX  223 

"It  is  a  cruelly  severe  statute,"  said  the  magistrate  to 
his  assistant,  "and  I  wish  the  girl  could  be  taken  from       j 
under  the  letter  of  it.     A  child  may  have  been  born,  and       \ 
it  may  have  been  conveyed  away  while  the  mother  was       ' 
insensible,  or  it  may  have  perished  for  want  of  that  re-        ! 
lief   which   the  poor   creature   herself — helpless,   terrified,        \ 
distracted,  despairing,  and  exhausted — may  have  been  un- 
able to  afford  to  it.     And  yet  it  is  certain,  if  the  woman 
is  found  guilty  under  the  statute,  execution  will  follow. 
The    crime    has    been    too    common,    and    examples    are   <-^ 
necessary." 

"But  if  this  other  wench,"  said  the  city-clerk,  "can  ! 
speak  to  her  sister,  communicating  her  situation,  it  will  ' 
take  the  case  from  under  the  statute."  \ 

"Very  true,"  replied  the  Bailie;  "and  I  will  walk  out       ] 
one  of  these  days  to  St.  Leonard's,  and  examine  the  girl       ' 
myself.      I   know   something   of   their   father   Deans — an        ' 
old  true-blue  Cameronian,  who  would  see  house  and  fam- 
ily go  to  wreck  ere  he  would  disgrace  his  testimony  by  a 
sinful  complying  with  the  defections  of  the  times;   and       i 
such  he  will  probably  uphold  the  taking  an  oath  before       j 
a  civil  magistrate.    If  they  are  to  go  on  and  flourish  with 
their  bull-headed  obstinacy,  the  legislature  must  pass  an 
act  to  take  their  affirmations,  as  in  the  case  of  Quakers,   i/ 
But  surely  neither  a  father  nor  a  sister  will  scruple  in  a       , 
case  of  this  kind.     As  I  said  before,  I  will  go  speak  with 
them  myself,  when  the  hurry  of  this  Porteous  investiga-       i 
tion  is  somewhat  over;  their  pride  and  spirit  of  contra-       I 
diction  will  be  far  less  alarmed  than  if  they  were  called 
into  a  court  of  justice  at  once." 

"And  I  suppose  Butler  is  to  remain  incarcerated?"  said 
the  city-clerk.  I 

"For  the  present,  certainly,"  said  the  magistrate.  "But  < 
I  hope  soon  to  set  him  at  liberty  upon  bail." 

"Do  you  rest  upon  the  testimony  of  that  light-headed  1 
letter?"   asked  the  clerk. 

"Not  very  much,"  answered  the  Bailie;  "and  yet  there  ; 
is  'something  striking  about  it  too — it  seems  the  letter  J 
of  a  man  beside  himself,  either  from  great  agitation,  op  '■ 
some  great  sense  of  guilt." 

"Yes,"  said  the  town-clerk,  "it  is  very  like  the  letter  | 
of  a  mad  strolling  play-actor,  who  deserves  to  be  hanged       j 


224  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

with  all  the  rest  of  his  gang,  as  your  honor  justly  ob- 
serves." 

"I  was  not  quite  so  bloodthirsty,"  continued  the  mag- 
istrate. "But  to  the  point.  Butler's  private  character 
is  excellent;  and  I  am  given  to  understand,  by  some  in- 
quiries I  have  been  making  this  morning,  that  he  did 
actually  arrive  in  town  only  the  day  before  yesterday,  so 
that  it  was  impossible  he  could  have  been  concerned  in 
any  previous  machinations  of  these  unhappy  rioters,  and 
it  is  not  likely  that  he  should*  have  joined  them  on  a 
suddenty." 

"There's  no  saying  anent  that — zeal  catches  fire  at  a 
slight  spark  as  fast  as  a  brunstane  match,"  observed  the 
secretary.  "I  hae  kent  a  minister  wad  be  fair  gude  day 
and  fair  gude  e'en  wi'  ilka  man  in  the  parochine,  and 
hing  just  as  quiet  as  a  rocket  on  a  stick,  till  ye  mentioned 
the  word  abjuration-oath,  or  patronage,  or  siclike,  and 
then,  whiz,  he  was  off,  and  up  in  the  air  an  hundred 
miles  beyond  common  manners,  common  sense,  and  com- 
mon comprehension." 

"I  do  not  understand,"  answered  the  burgher-magis- 
trate, "that  the  young  man  Butler's  zeal  is  of  so  inflam- 
mable a  character.  But  I  will  make  farther  investigation. 
What  other  business  is.  there  before  us?" 

And  they  proceeded  to  minute  investigations  concern- 
ing the  affair  of  Porteous's  death,  and  other  affairs 
through  which  this  history  has  no  occasion  to  trace 
them. 

In  the  course  of  their  business  they  were  interrupted 
by  an  old  woman  of  the  lower  rank,  extremely  haggard 
in  look,  and  wretched  in  her  apparel,  who  thrust  herself 
into  the  council-room. 

"What  do  you  want,  gudewife? — Who  are  you?"  said 
Bailie  Middleburgh. 

"What  do  I  want !"  replied  she,  in  a  sulky  tone — "I 
want  my  bairn,  or  I  want  naething  frae  nane  o'  ye,  for 
as  grand's  ye  are."  And  she  went  on  muttering  to  her- 
self, with  the  wayward  spitefulness  of  age — "They  maun 
hae  lordships  and  honors,  nae  doubt — set  them  up,  the 
gutter-bloods!  and  deil  a  gentleman  amang  them." — Then 
again  addressing  the  sitting  magistrate,  "Will  your  honor 
gie  me  back  my  puir  crazy  bairn? — His  honor! — I  hae 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  225         ' 

keiid  the  day  when  less  wad  ser'd  him,  the  oe  of  a  Camp- 
vere  skipper."  | 

''Good   woman,"   said   the  magistrate   to   this   shrewish  i 

supplicant, — "tell   us   what   it   is   you   want,   and   do   not  ' 

interrupt  the  court."  ' 

"That's  as  muckle  as  till  say.  Bark,  Bawtie,  and  be 
dune  wi't ! — I  tell  ye,"  raising'  her  termagant  voice,  'T 
want  my  bairn !  isna  that  braid  Scots  ?" 

"Who  are  you? — who  is  your  bairn?"  demanded  the 
magistrate.  ( 

"Wha  am  I  ? — wha  suld  I  be,  but  Meg  Murdockson,  and  | 

wha  suld  my  bairn  be  but  Magdalen  Murdockson? — Your         \ 
guard   soldiers,    and   your   constables,    and   your    officers,  \ 

ken  us  weel  eneugh  when  they  rive  the  bits  o'  duds  aff  ^-^| 
our  backs,   and   take   what   penny   o'   siller   we  hae,   and  i 

harle  us   to   the   Correction-house    in   Leith   Wynd,    and  i 

pettle  us  up  wi'  bread  and  water,  and  siclike  sunkets."  I 

'*Who   is  she?"  said  the  magistrate,  looking  round  to  I 

some  of  his  people.  j 

"Other  than   a  gude   ane,    sir,"   said   one   of  the   city-         ! 
officers,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  smiling.  1 

"Will  ye  say  sae?"  said  the  termagant,  her  eye  gleam-  * 

ing  with  impotent  fury;  "an  I  had  ye  among  the  Frigate-         j 
Whins,  wadna  I  set  my  ten  talents  in  your  wuzzent  face  j 

for   that   very   word?"    and   she   suited   the   word   to   the         \ 
action,  by  spreading  out  a  set  of  claws  resembling  those  j 

of  St.  George's  dragon  on  a  country  sign-post.  ' 

"What  does  she  want  here?"  said  the  impatient  magis-  , 

trate.     "Can  she  not  tell  her  business,  or  go  away  ?"  i 

"It's  my  bairn! — it's  Magdalen  ^Murdockson  I'm  want- 
in',"  answered  the  beldame,  screaming  at  the  highest 
pitch  of  her  cracked  and  mistuned  voice — "havena  I  been 
telling  ye  sae  this  half-hour?  And  if  ye  are  deaf,  what 
needs  ye  sit  cockit  up  there,  and  keep  folk  scraughin' 
tVe  this  gate?" 

"She  wants  her  daughter,  sir,"  said  the  same  officer 
whose  interference  had  given  the  hag  such  offence  before 
— "her  daughter,  who  was  taken  up  last  night — Madge 
Wildfire,  as  they  ca'  her."  ! 

"^fadge   Hkllfiue,   as   they  ca'   her!"   echoed    the   bel-  ' 

dame;   "and  what   business  has  a  blackguard   like  you  to 
ca'  an  honest  woman's  bairn  out  o'  her  ain  name?"  i 


226  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

"An  honest  woman's  bairn,  Maggie?"  answered  the 
peace-officer,  smiling  and  shaking  his  head  with  an  iron- 
ical emphasis  on  the  adjective,  and  a  calmness  calculated 
to  provoke  to  madness  the  furious  old  shrew. 

"If  I  am  no  honest  now  I  was  honest  ance,"  she  replied ; 
*'and  that's  mair  than  ye  can  say,  ye  born  and  bred  thief, 
that  never  kend  ither  folk's  gear  frae  your  ain  since  the 
day  ye  was  cleckit.  Honest,  say  ye? — ye  pykit  your 
mother's  pouch  o'  twalpennies  Scotch  when  ye  were  five 
years  auld,  just  as  she  was  taking  leave  o'  your  father 
at  the  fit  o'  the  gallows." 

"She  has  you  there,  George,"  said  the  assistants,  and 
there  was  a  general  laugh;  for  the  wit  was  fitted  for  the 
meridian  of  the  place  where  it  was  uttered.  This  general 
applause  somewhat  gratified  the  passions  of  the  old  hag; 
the  "grim  feature"  smiled,  and  even  laughed — but  it  was 
a  laugh  of  bitter  scorn.  She  condescended,  however,  as 
if  appeased  by  the  success  of  her  sally,  to  explain  her 
business  more  distinctly,  when  the  magistrate,  command- 
ing silence,  again  desired  her  either  to  speak  out  her 
errand,  or  to  leave  the  place. 

"Her  bairn,"  she  said,  ^'was  her  bairn,  and  she  came  to 
fetch  her  out  of  ill  haft  and  waur  guiding.  If  she  wasna 
sae  wise  as  ither  folk,  few  ither  folk  had  suffered  as 
muckle  as  she  had  done;  forby  that  she  could  fend  the 
waur  for  hersell  within  the  four  wa's  of  a  jail.  She  could 
prove  by  fifty  witnesses,  and  fifty  to  that,  that  her  daugh- 
ter had  never  seen  Jock  Porteous,  alive  or  dead,  since  he 
had  gien  her  a  loundering  wi'  his  cane,  the  neger  that 
he  was!  for  driving  a  dead  cat  at  the  provost's  wig  on 
the  Elector  of  Hanover's  birthday."  _ 

Notwithstanding  the  wretched  appearance  and  violent 
demeanor  of  this  woman,  the  magistrate  felt  the  justice 
of  her  argument,  that  her  child  might  be  as  dear  to  her 
as  to  a  more  fortunate  and  more  amiable  mother.  He 
proceeded  to  investigate  the  circumstances  which  had  led 
to  Madge  Murdockson's  (or  Wildfire's)  arrest,  and  as  it 
was  clearly  shown  that  she  had  not  been  engaged  in  the 
riot,  he  contented  himself  with  directing  that  an  eye 
should  be  kept  upon  her  by  the  police,  but  that  for  the 
present  she  should  be  allowed  to  return  home  with  her 
mother.     During  the   interval   of   fetching   Madge   from 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  227 

the  jail,  the  magistrate  endeavored  to  discover  whether 
her  mother  had  been  privy  to  the  change  of  dress  betwixt 
that  young  woman  and  Robertson.  But  on  this  point  he 
could  obtain  no  light.  She  persisted  in  declaring,  that 
she  had  never  seen  Robertson  since  his  remarkable  escape 
during  service-time ;  and  that,  if  her  daughter  had  changed 
clotlies  with  him,  it  must  have  been  during  her  absence 
at  a  hamlet  about  two  miles  out  of  town,  called  Dudding- 
stone,  where  she  could  prove  that  she  passed  that  eventful 
night.  And,  in  fact,  one  of  the  town-officers,  who  had 
been  searching  for  stolen  linen  at  the  cottage  of  a  washer- 
woman in  that  village,  gave  his  evidence,  that  he  had 
seen  Maggie  Murdockson  there,  whose  presence  had  con- 
siderably increased  his  suspicion  of  the  house  in  which 
she  was  a  visitor,  in  respect  that  he  considered  her  as 
a  person  of  no  good  reputation. 

'T  tauld  ye  sae,"  said  the, hag;  "see  now  what  it  is  to 
hae  a  character,  gude  or  bad! — Now,  maybe  after  a',  I 
could  tell  ye  something  about  Porteous  that  you  council- 
chamber  bodies  never  could  find  out,  for  as  muckle  stir 
as  ye  mak." 

All  eyes  were  turned  toward  her — all  ears  were  alert. 
''Speak  out !"  said  the  magistrate, 

"It  will  be  for  your  ain  gude,"  insinuated  the  town-clerk. 

"Dinna  keep  the  Bailie  waiting,"  urged  the  assistants. 

vShe  remained  doggedly  silent  for  two  or  three  minutes, 
casting  around  a  malignant  and  sulky  glance,  that  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  anxious  suspense  with  which  they  waited  her 
answer.  And  then  she  broke  forth  at  once, — "A'  that  I 
ken  about  him  is,  that  he  was  neither  soldier  nor  gentle- 
man, but  just  a  thief  and  a  blackguard,  like  maist  o' 
yoursells,  dears — What  will  ye  gie  me  for  that  news,  now? 
— He  wad  hae  served  the  gude  town  lang  or  provost  or 
bailie  wad  hae  fund  that  out,  my  joe!" 

While  these  matters  were  in  discussion,  Madge  Wildfire 
entered,  and  her  first  exclamation  was,  "Eh!  see  if  there 
isna  our  auld  ne'er-do-weel  deeviTs  buckie  o'  a  mithcr — 
Hegh,  sirs!  but  we  are  a  hopefu'  family,  to  be  twa  o' 
us  in  the  Guard  at  ance.  But  there  were  better  days 
wi'«us  ance — were  there  na,  mither?" 

Old  Maggie's  eyes  had  glistened  with  something  like 
an  expression  of  pleasure  when  she  saw  her  daughter  set 


228  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

at  liberty.  But  either  her  natural  affection,  like  that  of 
the  tigress,  could  not  be  displayed  without  a  strain  of 
ferocity,  or  there  was  something  in  the  ideas  which 
Madge's  speech  awakened,  that  again  stirred  her  cross 
and  savage  temper.  "What  signifies  what  we  were,  ye 
street-raking  limmer!"  she  exclaimed,  pushing  her  daugh- 
ter before  her  to  the  door,  with  no  gentle  degree  of  vio- 
lence. "I'se  tell  thee  what  thou  is  now — thou's  a  crazed 
hellicat  Bess  o'  Bedlam,  that  sail  taste  naething  but  bread 
and  water  for  a  fortnight,  to  serve  ye  for  the  plague  ye 
hae  gien  me — and  ower  gude  for  ye,  ye  idle  taupie!" 

Madge,  however,  escaped  from  her  mother  at  the  door, 
ran  back  to  the  foot  of  the  table,  dropped  a  very  low  and 
fantastic  courtesy  to  the  judge,  and  said,  with  a  giggling 
laugh, — "Our  minnie's  sair  mis-set,  after  her  ordinar,  sir 
— She'll  hae  had  some  quarrel  wi'  her  auld  gudeman — 
that's  Satan,  ye  ken,  sirs."  This  explanatory  note  she 
gave  in  a  low,  confidential  tone,  and  the  spectators  of 
that  credulous  generation  did  not  hear  it  without  an  in- 
voluntary shudder.  "The  gudeman  and  her  disna  aye 
gree  weel,  and  then  I  maun  pay  the  piper;  but  my  back's 
broad  eneugh  to  bear't  a' — an'  if  she  hae  nae  havings, 
that's  nae  reason  why  wiser  folk  shouldna  hae  some." 
Here  another  deep  courtesy,  when  the  ungracious  voice  of 
her  mother  was  heard. 

"Madge,  ye  limmer !  If  I  come  to  fetch  ye !" 
"Hear  till  her,"  said  Madge.  "But  I'll  wun  out  a  gliff 
the  night  for  a'  that,  to  dance  in  the  moonlight,  when 
her  and  the  gudeman  will  be  whirrying  through  the  blue 
lift  on  a  broom-shank,  to  see  Jean  Jap,  that  they  hae 
putten  intill  the  Kirkcaldy  tolbooth — ay,  they  will  hae  a 
merry  sail  ower  Inchkeith,  and  ower  a'  the  bits  o'  bonny 
waves  that  are  poppling  and  plashing  against  the  rocks 
in  the  gowden  glimmer  o'  the  moon,  ye  ken. — I'm  coming, 
mother — I'm  coming,"  she  concluded,  on  hearing  a  scuffle 
at  the  door  betwixt  the  beldam  and  the  officers,  who  were 
endeavoring  to  prevent  her  re-entrance.  Madge  then 
waved  her  hand  wildly  toward  the  ceiling,  and  sung,  at 
the  topmost  pitch  of  her  voice, — 

"Up  in  the  air, 
On  my  bonny  gray  mare, 
And  I  see,  and  I  see,  and  I  see  her  yet." 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  229 

And  with  a  hop,  skip,  and  jmnji,  sprun<>:  out  of  the  room, 
as  the  ^y itches  of  Macbeth  used,  in  less  refined  days,  to 
seem  to  fly  upward  from  the  stap:e. 

Some  weeks  intervened  before  Mr.  Middleburgh,  agree- 
ably to  his  benevolent  resolution,  found  an  opportunity 
of  taking  a  walk  toward  St.  Leonard's,  in  order  to  discover 
whether  it  might  be  possible  to  obtain  the  evidence  hinted 
at  in  the  anonymous  letter  respecting  Effie  Deans. 

In  fact,  the  anxious  perquisitions  made  to  discover  the 
murderers  of  Porteous  occupied  the  attention  of  all  con- 
cerned with  the  administration  of  justice. 

In  the  course  of  these  inquiries,  two  circumstances  hap- 
pened material  to  our  story.  Butler,  after  a  close  inves- 
tigation of  his  conduct,  was  declared  innocent  of  acces- 
sion to  the  death  of  Porteous;  but,  as  having  been  present 
during  the  whole  transaction,  was  obliged  to  find  bail  not 
to  quit  his  usual  residence  at  Libberton,  that  he  might 
appear  as  a  witness  when  called  upon.  The  other  inci- 
dent regarded  the  disappearance  of  Madge  Wildfire  and 
her  mother  from  Edinburgh.  When  they  were  sought, 
with  the  purpose  of  subjecting  them  to  some  further  in- 
terrogatories, it  was  discovered  by  Mr.  Sharpitlaw  that 
they  had  eluded  the  observation  of  the  police,  and  left  the 
city  so  soon  as  dismissed  from  the  council-chamber.  No 
efforts  could  trace  the  place  of  their  retreat. 

In  the  m,ean while  the  excessive  indignation  of  the  Coun- 
cil of  Regency,  at  the  slight  put  upon  their  authority  by 
the  murder  of  Porteous,  had  dictated  measures,  in  which 
their  own  extreme  desire  of  detecting  the  actors  in  that 
conspiracy  were  consulted  in  preference  to  the  temper  of 
the  people,  and  the  character  of  their  churchmen.  An 
act  of  parliament  was  hastily  passed,  offering  two  hun- 
dred pounds  reward  to  those  who  should  inform  against 
any  person  concerned  in  the  deed,  and  the  penalty  of 
death,  by  a  very  unusual  and  severe  enactment,  was  de- 
nounced against  those  who  should  harbor  the  guilty.  But 
what  was  chiefly  accounted  exceptionable  was  a  clause, 
appointing  the  act  to  be  read  in  churches  by  the  officiating 
clergyman,  on  the  first  Sunday  of  every  month,  for  a 
certain  period,  immediately  before  the  sermon.  The  min- 
isters who  should  refuse  to  comply  with  this  injunction 
were  declared,  for  the  first  offence,  incapable  of  sitting  or 


230  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

voting  in  any  church  judicature,  and  for  the  second, 
incapable  of  holding  any  ecclesiastical  preferment  in 
Scotland. 

This  last  order  united  in  a  common  cause  those  who 
might  privately  rejoice  in  Porteous's  death,  though  they 
dared  not  vindicate  the  manner  of  it,  with  the  more 
scrupulous  Presbyterians,  who  held  that  even  the  pro- 
nouncing the  name  of  the  "Lords  Spiritual"  in  a  Scottish 
pulpit  was,  quodammodo,  an  acknowledgment  of  prelacy, 
and  that  the  injunction  of  the  legislature  was  an  inter- 
ference of  the  civil  government  with  the  jus  divinum  of 
presbytery,  since  to  the  General  Assembly  alone,  as  rep- 
resenting the  invisible  head  of  the  kirk,  belonged  the  sole 
and  exclusive  right  of  regulating  whatever  pertained  to 
public  worship.  Very  many  also,  of  different  political  or 
religious  sentiments,  and  therefore  not  much  moved  by 
these  considerations,  thought  they  saw,  in  so  violent  an 
act  of  parliament,  a  more  vindictive  spirit  than  became 
the  legislature  of  a  great  country,  and  something  like  an 
attempt  to  trample  upon  the  rights  and  independence  of 
Scotland.  The  various  steps  adopted  for  punishing  the 
city  of  Edinburgh,  by  taking  away  her  charter  and  liber- 
ties, for  what  a  violent  and  over-mastering  mob  had  done 
within  her  walls,  were  resented  by  many,  who  thought  a 
pretext  was  too  hastily  taken  for  degrading  the  ancient 
metropolis  of  Scotland.  In  short,  there  was  much  heart- 
burning, discontent,  and  disaffection,  occasioned  by  these 
ill-considered  measures.^ 

Amidst  these  heats  and  dissensions,  the  trial  of  Effie 
Deans,  after  she  had  been  many  weeks  imprisoned,  was 
at  length  about  to  be  brought  forward,  and  Mr.  Middle- 
burgh  found  leisure  to  inquire  into  the  evidence  concern- 
ing her.  For  this  purpose,  he  chose  a  fine  day  for  his 
walk  toward  her  father's  house. 

*  The  Magistrates  were  closely  interrogated  before  the  House  of  Peers, 
concerping  the  particulars  of  the  Mob,  and  the  patois  in  which  these 
functionaries  made  their  answers,  sounded  strange  in  the  ears  of  the 
Southern  nobles.  The  Duke  of  Newcastle  having  demanded  to  know 
with  what  kind  of  shot  the  guard  which  Porteous  commanded  had 
loaded  their  muskets,  was  answered  naively,  "Ow,  just  sic  an  ane  shoots 
dukes  and  fools  with."  This  reply  was  considered  as  a  contempt  of 
the  House  of  Lords,  and  the  Provost  would  have  suffered  accordingly, 
but  that  the  Duke  of  Argyle  explained,  that  the  expression,  properly 
rendered   into   English,   meant   ducks  and  water-fowl. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  231 

The  excursion  into  the  country  was  somewhat  distant, 
in  the  opinion  of  a  burgess  of  those  days,  although  many 
of  the  present  inhabit  suburban  villas  considerably  be- 
yond the  spot  to  which  we  allude.  Three-quarters  of  an 
hours  walk,  however,  even  at  a  pace  of  magisterial  grav- 
ity, conducted  our  benevolent  office-bearer  to  the  Crags 
of  St.  Leonard's,  and  the  humble  mansion  of  David 
Deans. 

The  old  man  was  seated  on  the  deas,  or  turf -seat,  at  the 
end  of  his  cottage,  busied  in  mending  his  cart-harness 
with  his  own  hands;  for  in  those  days  any  sort  of  labor 
which  required  a  little  more  skill  than  usual  fell  to  the 
share  of  the  goodman  himself,  and  that  even  when  he  was 
well  to  pass  in  the  world.  With  stern  and  austere  gravity 
he  persevered  in  his  task,  after  having  just  raised  his 
head  to  notice  the  advance  of  the  stranger.  It  would 
have  been  impossible  to  have  discovered,  from  his  counte- 
nance and  manner,  the  internal  feelings  of  agony  with 
which  he  contended.  Mr.  Middleburgh  waited  an  instant, 
expecting  Deans  would  in  some  measure  acknowledge  his 
presence,  and  lead  into  conversation ;  but,  as  he  seemed 
determined  to  remain  silent,  he  was  himself  obliged  to 
speak  first. 

"My  name  is  Middleburgh — Mr.  James  Middleburgh, 
one  of  the  present  magistrates  of  the  city  of  Edinburgh." 

"It  may  be  sae,"  answered  Deans  laconically,  and  with- 
out interrupting  his  labof. 

"You  must  understand,"  he  continued,  "that  the  duty 
of  a  magistrate  is  sometimes  an  unpleasant  one." 

"It  may  be  sac,"  replied  David;  "I  hae  naething  to  say 
in  the  contrair;"  and  he  was  again  doggedly  silent. 

"You  must  be  aware,"  pursued  the  magistrate,  "that 
persons  in  my  situation  are  often  obliged  to  make  painful 
and  disagreeable  inquiries  of  individuals,  merely  because 
it  is  their  bounden  duty." 

"It  may  be  sae,"  again  replied  Deans;  "I  hae  naething 
to  say  anent  it,  either  the  tae  way  or  the  t'other.  But  I 
do  ken  there  was  ance  in  a  day  a  just  and  God-fearing 
magistracy  in  yon  town  o'  Edinburgh,  that  did  not  bear 
the  sword  in  vain,  but  were  a  terror  to  evil-doers,  and  a 
praise  to  such  as  kept  the  path.     In  the  glorious  days  of 


232  THE    IIEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

auld  worthy  faitlifu'  Provost  Dick,"  when  there  .was  a  true 
and  faithfu'  General  Assembly  of  the  Kirk,  walking  hand 
in  hand  with  the  real  noble  Scottish-hearted  barons,  and 
with  the  magistrates  of  this  and  other  towns,  gentles, 
burgesses,  and  commons  of  all  ranks,  seeing  with  one  eye, 
hearing  with  one  ear,  and  upholding  the  ark  with  their 
united  strength — And  then  folk  might  see  men  deliver  up 
their  silver  to  the  states'  use,  as  if  it  had  been  as  muckle 
sclate  stanes.  My  father  saw  them  toom  the  sacks  of 
dollars  out  o'  Provost  Dick's  window  intill  the  carts  that 
carried  them  to  the  army  at  Dunse  Law ;  and  if  ye  winna 
believe  his  testimony,  there  is  the  window  itsell  still 
standing  in  the  Luckenbooths — I  think  it's  a  claith-mer- 
chant's  booth  the  dayf — at  the  aim  stanchells,  five  doors 
abune  Gossford's  Close. — But  now  we  haena  sic  spirit 
amang  us;  we  think  mair  about  the  warst  wally.draigle 
in  our  ain  byre,  than  about  the  blessing  which  the  angel 
of  the  covenant  gave  to  the  Patriarch  even  at  Peniel  and 
Mahanaim,  or  the  binding  obligation  of  our  national 
vows;  and  we  wad  rather  gie  a  pund  Scots  to  buy  an  un- 
guent to  clear  our  auld  rannelltrees  and  our  beds  o'  the 
English  bugs  as  they  ca'  them,  than  we  wad  gie  a  plack 
to  rid  the  land  of  the  swarm  of  Arminian  caterpillars, 
Socinian  pismires,  and  deistical  Miss  Katies,  that  have 
ascended  out  of  the  bottomless  pit,  to  plague  this  per- 
verse, insidious,  and  lukewarm  generation." 

It  happened  to  Davie  Deans  on  this  occasion  as  it  has 
done  to  many  other  habitual  orators ;  when  once  he  be- 
came embarked  on  his  favorite  subject,  the  stream  of  his 
own  enthusiasm  carried  him  forward  in  spite  of  his  men- 
tal distress,  while  his  well-exercis'ed  memory  supplied 
him  amply  with  all  the  types  and  tropes  of  rhetoric  pe- 
culiar to  his  sect  and  cause. 

Mr.  Middleburgh  contented  himself  with  answering — • 
"All  this  may  be  very  true,  my  friend;  but,  as  you  said 
just  now,  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  it  at  present,  either 
one  way  or  other. — You  have  two  daughters,  I  think, 
Mr.  Deans?" 

The  old  man  winced,   as  one  whose   smarting  sore  is 

*  Note  X.— Sir  William   Dick  of  Braid. 

t  I  think  so  too. — But  if  the  reader  be  curious  he  may  consult  Mr. 
Chambers'    "Traditions    of    Edinbvirgh." 


THE   HEART    OF    :MTD-T.OTniAiS  233 

suddenly  jjallcd;  but  instantly  composed  himself,  resumed 
the  work  which,  in  the  heat  of  his  declamation,  he  had 
laid  down,  and  answered  with  sullen  resolution,  "Ae 
dau*?hter,  sir — only  ane." 

"I  understand  you,"  said  Mr.  Middleburgh ;  "you  have 
only  one  daughter  here  at  home  with  you — but  this  un- 
fortunate girl  who  is  a  prisoner — she  is,  I  think,  your 
youngest  daughter  ?" 

The  Presbyterian  sternly  raised  his  eyes.  "After  the 
world,  and  according  to  the  flesh,  she  is  my  daughter;  but 
when  she  became  a  child  of  Belial,  and  a  company-keeper, 
and  a  trader  in  guilt  and  iniquity,  she  ceased  to  be  a 
bairn  of  mine." 

"Alas,  Mr,  Deans,"  said  Middleburgh,  sitting  down  by 
him,  and  endeavoring  to  take  his  hand,  which  the  old 
man  proudly  withdrew,  "we  are  ourselves  all  sinners;  and 
the  errors  of  our  offspring,  as  they  ought  not  to  surprise 
us,  being  the  portion  which  they  derive  of  a  common  por- 
tion of  corruption  inherited  through  us,  so  they  do  not 
entitle  us  to  cast  them  off  because  they  have  lost  them- 
selves." 

"Sir,"  said  Deans  impatiently,  "I  ken  a'  that  as  weel 
as — I  mean  to  say,"  he  resumed,  checking  the  irritation 
he  felt  at  being  schooled, — a  discipline  of  the  mind,  which 
those  most  ready  to  bestow  it  on  others,  do  themselves 
most  reluctantly  submit  to  receive — "I  mean  to  say,  that 
what  ye  observe  may  be  just  and  reasonable — But  I  hae 
nae  freedom  to  enter  into  my  ain  private  affairs  wi' 
strangers — And  now,  in  this  great  national  emergency, 
when  there's  the  Porteous  Act  has  come  doun  frae  Lon- 
don, that  is  a  deeper  blow  to  this  poor  sinfu'  kingdom 
and  suffering  kirk,  than  ony  that  has  been  heard  of  since 
the  foul  and  fatal  Test — at  a  time  like  this " 

"But,  goodman,"  interrupted  ]^^r.  Middleburgh,  "you 
must  think  of  your  own  household  first,  or  else  you  are 
worse  even  than  the  infidels." 

"I  tell  ye.  Bailie  Middleburgh,"  retorted  David  l^eans, 
"if  ye  be  a  bailie,  as  there  is  little  honor  in  being  ane  in 
these  evil  days — I  tell  ye,  I  heard  the  gracious  Saunders 
Peden — I  wotna  whan  it  was;  but  it  was  in  killing  time, 
when  the  plowers  were  drawing  alang  their  furrows  on 
the  back  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland — T  heard  him  tell  his 


234  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

hearers,  gude  and  waled  Christians  they  were  too,  that 
some  o'  them  wad  greet  mair  for  a  bit  drowned  calf  or 
stirk,  than  for  a'  the  defections  and  oppressions  of  the 
day;  and  that  they  were  some  o'  them  thinking  o'  ae 
thing,  some  o'  anither,  and  there  was  Lady  Hundleslope 
thinking  o'  greeting  Jock  at  the  fireside!  And  the  lady 
confessed  in  my  hearing,  that  a  drow  of  anxiety  had  come 
ower  her  for  her  son  that  she  r.ad  left  at  hame  weak  of 
a  decay  * — And  w^hat  wad  he  hae  said  of  me,  if  I  had 
ceased  to  think  of  the  gude  cause  for  a  castaway — a — It 
kills  me  to  think  of  what  she  is ! " 

''But  the  life  of  your  child,  goodman — think  of  that — 
if  her  life  could  be  saved,"  said  Middleburgh, 

"Her  life?"  exclaimed  David — "I  wadna  gie  ane  o'  my 
gray  hairs  for  her  life,  if  her  gude  name  be  gane — And 
yet,"  said  he,  relenting  and  retracting  as  he  spoke,  "I 
wad  make  the  niffer,  Mr.  Middleburgh — I  wad  gie  a'  these 
gray  hairs  that  she  has  brought  to  shame  and  sorrow — I 
wad  gie  the  auld  head  they  grow  on  for  her  life,  and 
that  she  might  hae  time  to  amend  and  return,  for  what 
hae  the  wicked  beyond  the  breath  of  their  nosthrils  ? — But 
I'll  never  see  her  mair. — No! — that — that  I  am  deter- 
mined in — I'll  never  see  her  mair!"  His  lips  continued 
to  move  for  a  minute  after  his  voice  ceased  to  be  heard, 
as  if  he  were  repeating  the  same  vow  internally. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Middleburgh,  "I  speak  to  you  as  a 
man  of  sense;  if  you  would  save  your  daughter's  life, 
you  must  use  human  means." 

"I  understand  what  you  mean;  but  Mr.  Novit,  who  is 
the  procurator  and  doer  of  an  honorable  person,  the  Laird 
of  Dumbiedikes,  is  to  do  what  carnal  wisdom  can  do  for 
her  in  the  circumstances.  Mysell  am  not  clear  to  trinquet 
and  trafiic  wi'  courts  o'  justice,  as  they  are  now  consti- 
tuted; I  have  a  tenderness  and  scruple  in  my  mind  anent 
them." 

"That  is  to  say,"  said  Middleburgh,  "that  you  are  a 
Cameronian,  and  do  not  acknowledge  the  authority  of  our 
courts  of  judicature,  or  present  government  ?" 

"Sir,  under  your  favor,"  replied  David,  who  was  too 
proud  of  his  own  polemical  knowledge,  to  call  himself  the 

*  See  "Life  of  Peden,"  p.   111. 


THE    HEART    OF    MlD-LOTHlAN  235 

follower  of  any  one,  "ye  take  nie  up  before  I  fall  down. 
1  canna  see  why  I  suld  be  termed  a  Cameron ian,  espe- 
cially now  that  ye  hae  given  the  name  of  that  famous 
and  savory  sulferer,  not  only  until  a  regimental  band  of 
souldiers,  whereof  I  am  told  many  can  now  curse,  swear, 
and  use  profane  language,  as  fast  as  ever  Richard  Cam- 
eron could  preach  or  pray;  but  also  because  ye  have,  in 
as  far  as  it  is  in  your  power,  rendered  that  martyr's 
name  vain  and  contemptible,  by  pipes,  drums,  and  fifes, 
playing  the  vain  carnal  spring,  called  the  Cameronian 
Rant,  which  too  many  professors  of  religion  dance  to— a 
practice  maist  unbecoming  a  professor  to  dance  to  any 
tune  whatsoever,  more  especially  promiscuously,  that  is, 
with  the  female  sex.*  A  brutish  fashion  it  is,  whilk  is 
the  beginning  of  defection  with  many,  as  I  may  hae 
as  muckle  cause  as  maist  folk  to  testify." 

"Well,  but,  Mr.  Deans,''  replied  Mr.  Middleburgh,  'T 
only  meant  to  say  that  you  were  a  Cameronian,  or  Mac- 
Millanite,  one  of  the  society  people,  in  short,  who  think 
it  inconsistent  to  take  oaths  under  a  government  where 
the  Covenant  is  not  ratified." 

"Sir,"  replied  the  controversialist,  who  forgot  even  his 
present  distress  in  such  discussions  as  these,  ''you  cannot 
tickle  me  sae  easily  as  you  do  opine.  I  am  not  a  Mac- 
Millanite,  or  a  Russelite,  or  a  Hamiltonian,  or  a  Harley- 
ite,  or  a  Howdenite  f — I  will  be  led  by  the  nose  by  none 
— I  take  my  name  as  a  Christian  from  no  vessel  of  clay. 
I  have  my  own  principles  and  {practice  to  answer  for, 
and  am  an  humble  pleader  for  the  gude  auld  cause  in  a 
legal  way." 

"That  is  to  say,  Mr.  Deans,"  said  Middleburgh,  that 
you  are  a  Deanite,  and  have  opinions  peculiar  to  yourself.'' 

"It  may  please  you  to  say  sae,"  said  David  Deans; 
"but  I  have  maintained  my  testimony  before  as  great  folk, 
and  in  sharj^er  times;  and  though  I  will  neither  exalt 
myself  n«»r  pull  down  others,  1  wish  every  man  and 
WDUian  in  this  land  had  kept  the  true  testimony,  and 
the  middle  and  straight  path,  as  it  were,  on  the  ridge 
of  a  hill,  where  wind   and  water  shears,   avoiding  right- 


*  See  Nott   III. 

t  Ali   various    species   of    the    great    genus   Cameronian. 


236  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAI^ 

hand  snares  and  extremes,  and  left-hand  way-slidings, 
as  weel  as  Johnny  Dodds  of  Farthing's  Acre,  and  ae 
man  mair  that  shall  be  nameless." 

"I  suppose,"  replied  the  magistrate,  ''that  is  as  much 
as  to  say,  that  Johnny  Dodds  of  Farthing's  Acre,  and 
David  Deans  of  St.  Leonard's,  constitute  the  only  mem- 
bers of  the  true,  real,  unsophisticated  Kirk  of  Scotland?" 

"God  forbid  that  I  suld  make  sic  a  vainglorious  speech, 
when  there  are  sae  mony  professing  Christians !"  an- 
swered David;  "but  this  I  maun  say,  that  all  men  act 
according  to  their  gifts  and  their  grace,  sae  that  it  is  nae 
marvel  that " 

"This  is  all  very  fine,"  interrupted  Mr.  Middleburgh; 
"but  I  have  no  time  to  spend  in  hearing  it.  The  matter 
in  hand  is  this — I  have  directed  a  citation  to  be  lodged 
in  your  daughter's  hands — If  she  appears  on  the  day  of 
trial  and  gives  evidence,  there  is  reason  to  hope  she  may 
save  her  sister's  life — if,  from  any  constrained  scruples 
about  the  legality  of  her  performing  the  office  of  an 
affectionate  sister  and  a  good  subject,  by  appearing  in 
a  court  held  under  the  authority  of  the  law  and  govern- 
ment, you  become  the  means  of  deterring  her  from  the 
discharge  of  this  duty,  I  must  say,  though  the  truth  may 
sound  harsh  in  your  ears,  that  you,  who  gave  life  to  this 
unhappy  girl,  will  become  the  means  of  her  losing  it  by 
a  premature  and  violent  death." 

So  saying,  Mr.  Middleburgh  turned  to  leave  him. 

"Bide  awee — bide  awee,  Mr.  Middleburgh,"  said  Deans, 
in  great  perplexity  and  distress  of  mind;  but  the  Bailie, 
who  was  probably  sensible  that  protracted  discussion 
might  diminish  the  effect  of  his  best  and  most  forcible 
argument,  took  a  hasty  leave,  and  declined  entering  far- 
ther into  the  controversy. 

Deans  sunk  down  upon  his  seat,  stunned  with  a  variety 
of  conflicting  emotions.  It  had  been  a  great  source  of 
controversy  among  those  holding  his  opinions  in  religious 
matters,  how  far  the  government  which  succeeded  the 
Revolution  could  be,  without  sin,  acknowledged  by  true 
Presbyterians,  seeing  that  it  did  not  recognize  the  great 
national  testimony  of  the  Solemn  League  and  Covenant? 
And  latterly,  those  agreeing  in  this  general  doctrine, 
and  assuming  the  sounding  title  of  the  anti-popish,  anti- 


THE   HEART    OE   MID-LOTHIAN  237 

prelatic,  anti-erastian,  anti-sectarian,  true  Presbyterian 
remnant,  were  divided  into  many  petty  sects  among  them- 
selves, even  as  to  the  extent  of  submission  to  the  existing 
laws  and  rulers,  which  constituted  such  an  acknowledg- 
ment as  amounted  to  sin. 

At  a  very  stormy  and  tumultuous  meeting,  held  in  1682, 
to  discuss  these  important  and  delicate  points,  the  testi- 
monies of  the  faithful  few  were  found  utterly  inconsist- 
ent with  each  other.*  The  place  where  this  conference 
took  place  was  remarkably  well  adapted  for  such  an  as- 
sembly. It  was  a  wild  and  very  sequestered  dell  in 
Tweeddale,  surrounded  by  high  hills,  and  far  remote 
from  human  habitation.  A  small  river,  or  rather  a 
mountain  torrent,  called  the  Talla,  breaks  down  the  glen 
with  great  fury,  dashing  successively  over  a  number  of 
small  cascades,  which  has  procured  the  spot  the  name 
of  Talla-Linns.  Here  the  leaders  among  the  scattered 
adherents  to  the  Covenant,  men  who,  in  their  banishment 
from  human  society,  and  in  the  recollection  of  the 
severities  to  which  they  had  been  exposed,  had  become 
at  once  sullen  in  their  tempers,  and  fantastic  in  their 
religious  opinions,  met  with  arms  in  their  hands,  and  by 
the  side  of  the  torrent  discussed,  with  a  turbulence  which 
tlie  noise  of  the  stream  could  not  drown,  points  of  con- 
troversy as  empty  and  unsubstantial  as  its  foam. 

It  was  the  fixed  judgment  of  most  of  the  meeting,  that 
all  payment  of  cess  or  tribute  to  the  existing  government 
was  utterly  unlawful,  and  a  sacrificing  to  idols.  About 
other  impositions  and  degrees  of  submission  there  were 
various  opinions;  and  perhaps  it  is  the  best  illustration 
of  the  spirit  of  those  military  fathers  of  the  church  to 
say,  that  while  all  allowed  it  was  impious  to  pay  the 
cess  employed  for  maintaining  the  standing  army  and 
militia,  there  was  a  fierce  controversy  on  the  lawfulness 
of  paying  the  duties  levied  at  ports  and  bridges,  for 
maintaining  roads  and  other  necessary  purposes;  that 
there  were  some  who,  repugnant  to  these  imposts  for 
turnpikes  and  postages,  were  nevertheless  free  in  con- 
science to  make  payment  of  the  usual  freight  at  pul)li(' 
ferries,   and   that   a  person  of  exceeding  and  punctilious 


Note    XI. — Meeting   at   Talla-Linns. 


238  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

zeal,  James  Kussel,  one  of  the  slayers  of  the  Archbishop 
of  St.  Andrews,  had  given  his  testimony  with  great 
warmth  even  against  this  last  faint  shade  of  subjection 
to  constituted  authority.  This  ardent  and  enlightened 
person  and  his  followers  had  also  great  scruples  about 
the  lawfulness  of  bestowing  the  ordinary  names  upon  the 
days  of  the  week  and  the  months  of  the  year,  which  sa- 
vored in  their  nostrils  so  strongly  of  paganism,  that  at 
length  they  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  they  who  owned 
such  names  as  Monday,  Tuesday,  January,  February,  and 
so  forth,  "served  themselves  heirs  to  the  same,  if  not 
greater  punishment,  than  had  been  denounced  against 
the  idolaters  of  old." 

David  Deans  had  been  present  on  this  memorable  oc- 
casion, although  too  young  to  be  a  speaker  among  the 
polemical  combatants.  His  brain,  however,  had  been  thor- 
oughly heated  by  the  noise,  clamor,  and  metaphysical  in- 
genuity of  the  discussion,  and  it  was  a  controversy  to 
which  his  mind  had  often  returned;  and  though  he  care- 
fully disguised  his  vacillation  from  others,  and  perhaps 
from  himself,  he  had  never  been  able  to  come  to  any 
precise  line  of  decision  on  the  subject.  In  fact,  his 
natural  sense  had  acted  as  a  counterpoise  to  his  contro- 
versial zeal.  He  was  by  no  means  pleased  with  the  quiet 
and  indifferent  manner  in  which  King  William's  govern- 
ment slurred  over  the  errors  of  the  times,  when,  far  from 
restoring  the  Presbyterian  Kirk  to  its  former  supremacy, 
they  passed  an  act  of  oblivion  even  to  those  who  had 
been  its  persecutors,  and  bestowed  on  many  of  them 
titles,  favors,  and  employments.  When,  in  the  first  Gen- 
eral Assembly  which  succeeded  the  Revolution,  an  over- 
ture was  made  for  the  revival  of  the  League  and  Cove- 
nant, it  was  with  horror  that  Douce  David  heard  the 
proposal  eluded  by  the  men  of  carnal  wit  and  policy,  as 
he  called  them,  as  being  inapplicable  to  the  present  times, 
and  not  falling  under  the  modern  model  of  the  church. 
The  reign  of  Queen  Anne  had  increased  his  conviction, 
that  the  devolution  government  was  not  one  of  the  true 
Presbyterian  complexion.  But  then,  more  sensible  than 
the  bigots  of  his  sect,  he  did  not  confound  the  modera- 
tion and  tolerance  of  these  two  reigns  with  the  active 
tyranny  and  oppression  exercised  in  those  of  Charles  II. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  239 

and  James  II.  The  Presbyterian  form  of  religion,  though 
deprived  of  the  weight  formerly  attached  to  its  sentences 
of  excommunication,  and  compelled  to  tolerate  the  co- 
existence of  episcopacy,  and  of  sects  of  various  descrip- 
tions, was  still  the  National  Church;  and  though  the 
glory  of  the  second  temple  was  far  inferior  to  that  which 
had  flourished  from  1639  till  the  battle  of  Dunbar,  still 
it  was  a  structure  that,  wanting  the  strength  and  the 
terrors,  retained  at  least  the  form  and  symmetry  of  the 
original  model.  Then  came  the  insurrection  in  1715, 
and  David  Deans's  horror  for  the  revival  of  the  popish 
and  prelatical  faction  reconciled  him  greatly  to  the  gov- 
ernment of  King  George,  although  he  grieved  that  that 
monarch  might  be  suspected  of  a  leaning  unto  Erastian- 
ism.  In  short,  <moved  by  so  many  different  considerations, 
he  had  shifted  his  ground  at  diiierent  times  concerning 
the  degree  of  freedom  which  he  felt  in  adopting  any  act 
of  immediate  acknowledgment  or  submission  to  the  pres- 
ent government,  which,  however  mild  and  paternal,  was 
still  uncovenanted ;  and  now  he  felt  himself  called  upon 
by  the  most  powerful  motive  conceivable,  to  authorize 
his  daughter's  giving  testimony  in  the  court  of  justice, 
.which  all  who  have  been  since  called  Cameronians  ac- 
counted a  step  of  lamentable  and  direct  defection.  The 
voice  of  nature,  however,  exclaimed  loud  in  his  bosom 
against  the  dictates  of  fanaticism;  and  his  imagination, 
fertile  in  the  solution  of  polemical  difficulties,  devised  an 
expedient  for  extricating  himself  from  the  fearful  dilem- 
ma, in  which  he  saw,  on  the  one  side,  a  falling  off  from 
principle,  and,  on  the  other,  a  scene  from  which  a  father's 
thoughts  could  not  but  turn  in  shuddering  horror. 

'T  have  been  constant  and  unchanged  in  my  testimony," 
said  David  Deans;  ''but  then  who  has  said  it  to  me,  that 
I  have  judged  my  neighbor  over  closely,  because  he  hath 
had  more  freedom  in  his  walk  than  I  nave  found  in 
mine?  I  never  was  a  separatist,  nor  for  quarreling  with 
tender  souls  about  mint,  cummin,  or  other  the  lesser 
tithes.  My  daughter  Jean  nuiy  have  a  light  in  this 
subject  that  is  hid  frae  my  auld  een — it  is  laid  on  her 
conscience,  and  not  on  mine — If  she  hath  freedom  to 
gang  before  this  judicatory,  and  hold  up  her  hand  for  this 
poor   castaway,   surely    1    will   not   say  she   stepj)eth   over 


240  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

her  bounds;  and  if  not "     He  paused  in  his  mental 

argument,  while  a  pang  of  unutterable  anguish  convulsed 
his  features,  yet,  shaking  it  off,  he  firmly  resumed  the 
strain  of  his  reasoning — "And  if  not — God  forbid  that 
she  should  go  into  defection  at  bidding  of  mine!  I 
wunna  fret  the  tender  conscience  of  one  bairn — no,  not 
to  save  the  life  of  the  other." 

A  Roman  would  have  devoted  his  daughter  to  death 
from  different  feelings  and  motives,  but  not  upon  a  more 
heroic  principle  of  duty. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

To   man,   in  this  his  trial   state, 

The  privilege  is  given, 
When    tost    by    tides    of    human    fate, 

To   anchor    fast    on    heaven. 

Watts'  Hymns. 

It  was  with  a  firm  step  that  Deans  sought  his  daughter's 
apartment,  determined  to  leave  her  to  the  light  of  her  own 
conscience  in  the  dubious  point  of  casuistry  in  which  he 
supposed  her  to  be  placed. 

The  little  room  had  been  the  sleeping  apartment  of  both 
sisters,  and  there  still  stood  there  a  small  occasional  bed 
which  had  been  made  for  Effie's  accommodation,  when, 
complaining  of  illness,  she  had  declined  to  share,  as  in 
happier  times,  her  sister's  pillow.  The  eyes  of  Deans 
rested  involuntarily,  on  entering  the  room,  upon  this  little 
couch,  with  its  dark-green  coarse  curtains,  and  the  ideas 
connected  with  it  rose  so  thick  upon  his  soul  as  almost 
to  incapacitate  him  from  opening  his  errand  to  his  daugh- 
ter. Her  occupation  broke  the  ice.  He  found  her  gazing 
on  a  slip  of  paper,  which  contained  a  citation  to  her  to 
appear  as  a  witness  upon  her  sister's  trial  in  behalf  of 
the  accused.  For  the  worthy  magistrate,  determined  to 
omit  no  chance  of  doing  Effie  justice,  and  to  leave  her 
sister  no  apology  for  not  giving  the  evidence  which  she 
was  supposed  to  possess,  had  caused  the  ordinary  cita- 
tion, or  subpoena,  of  the  Scottish  criminal  court,  to  be 
served  upon  her  by  an  officer  during  his  conference  with 
David. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  241        I 

This  precaution  was  so  far  favorable  to  Deans,  that  it 
saved  him  tlie  pain  of  enterinjr  upon  a  formal  explanation         ' 
with  his  daughter;  he  only  said,  with  a  hollow  and  tremu-         ' 
lous  voice,  "I  perceive  ye  are  aware  of  the  matter."  < 

"O  father,  we  are  cruelly  sted  between  God's  laws  and 
man's  laws — What  shall  we  do? — What  can  we  do?"  i 

Jeanie,  it  must  be  observed,  had  no  hesitation  whatever 
about   the  mere  act  of  appearing  in  a  court  of  justice.         ^ 
She  might  have  heard  the  point  discussed  by  her  father 
more  than   once;   but   we  have  already  noticed,  that   she         i 
was  accustomed  to  listen  with  reverence  to  much  which    l/'  ' 
she  was  incapable  of  understanding,  and  that  subtle  ar-         ' 
guments  of  casuistry  found  her  a  patient,  but  unedified         i 
hearer.       Upon     receiving    the     citation,     therefore,     her         ! 
thoughts  did  not  turn  upon  the  chimerical  scruples  which         j 
alarmed  her  father's  mind,  but  to  the  language  which  had         , 
been  held  to  her  by  the  stranger  at  Muschat's  Cairn.     In 
a   word,   she  never  doubted   but   she  was   to   be   dragged         i 
forward  into  the  court  of  justice,  in  order  to  place  her 
in  the  cruel  position  of  either  sacrificing  her  sister  by 
telling  the  truth,  or  committing  perjurj^  in  order  to  save        ] 
her  life.     And  so  strongly  did  her  thoughts  run   in  this        ' 
channel,    that   she   applied   her   father's    words,    "Ye   are 
aware  of  the  matter,"  to  his  acquaintance  with  the  ad- 
vice that  had  been  so  fearfully  enforced  upon  her.     She        i 
looked  up   with   anxious  surprise,   not   unmingled   with   a        I 
cast  of  horror,  which  his  next  words,  as  she  interpreted        \ 
and  applied  them,  were  not  qualified  to  remove.  j 

"Daughter,"  said  David,  "it  has  ever  been  my  mind, 
that  in  things  of  ane  doubtful  and  controversial  nature,  I 
ilk  Christian's  conscience  suld  be  his  ain  guide — Where- 
fore descend  into  yourself,  try  your  ain  mind  with  suffi- 
ciency of  soul  exercise,  and  as  you  sail  finally  find  your- 
self clear  to  do  in  this  matter — even  so  be  it." 

"But,  father,"  said  Jeanie,  whose  mind  revolted  at  the 
construction  which  she  naturally  put  upon  his  language, 
"can  this — this  be  a  doubtfiil  or  controversial  matter? — 
Mind,  father,  the  ninth  conniiniid — 'Thou  shalt  not  bear        i 
false  witness  against  thy  neighbor.'  "  : 

David  Deans  paused;  for,  still  applying  her  speech  to  j 
his  preconceived  difficulties,  it  seemed  to  him.  as  if  she,  y  \ 
a  woman,  and  a  sister,  was  scarce  entitled  to  be  scrupu- 


242  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

lous  upon  this  occasion,  where  he^  a  man,  exercised  in 
the  testimonies  of  that  testifying  period,  had  given  in- 
direct countenance  to  her  following  what  must  have  been 
the  natural  dictates  of  her  own  feelings.  But  he  kept 
firm  his  purpose,  until  his  eyes  involuntarily  rested  upon 
the  little  settle-bed,  and  recalled  the  form  of  the  child 
of  his  old  age,  as  she  sate  upon  it,  pale,  emaciated,  and 
broken-hearted.  His  mind,  as  the  picture  arose  before 
him,  involuntarily  conceived,  and  his  tongue  involunta- 
rily uttered — but  in  a  tone  how  different  from  his  usual 
dogmatical  precision ! — arguments  for  the  course  of  con- 
duct likely  to  insure  his  child's  safety. 

'^Daughter,"  he  said,  "I  did  not  say  that  your  path  was 
free  from  stumbling — and,  questionless,  this  act  may  be 
in  the  opinion  of  some  a  transgression,  since  he  who 
beareth  witness  unlawfully,  and  against  his  conscience, 
doth  in  some  sort  bear  false  witness  against  his  neighbor. 
Yet  in  matters  of  compliance,  the  guilt  lieth  not  in  the 
compliance  sae  muckle,  as  in  the  mind  and  conscience 
of  him  that  doth  comply;  and,  therefore,  although  my 
testimony  hath  not  been  spared  upon  public  defections, 
I  haena  felt  freedom  to  separate  mysell  from  the  com- 
munion of  many  who  have  been  clear  to  hear  those  min- 
isters who  have  taken  the  fatal  indulgence,  because  they 
might  get  good  of  them,  though  I  could  not." 

When  David  had  proceeded  thus  far,  his  conscience  re- 
proved him,  that  he  might  be  indirectly  undermining  the 
purity  of  his  daughter's  faith,  and  smoothing  the  way  for 
her  falling  off  from  strictness  of  principle.  He,  there- 
fore, suddenly  stopped,  and  changed  his  tone: — "Jeanie, 
I  perceive  that  our  vile  affections, — so  I  call  them  in 
respect  of  doing  the  will  of  our  Father, — cling  too  heavily 
to  me  in  this  hour  of  trying  sorrow,  to  permit  me  to  keep 
sight  of  my  ain  duty,  or  to  airt  you  to  yours.  I  will 
speak  nae  mair  anent  this  overtrying  matter. — Jeanie,  if 
you  can,  wi'  God  and  gude  conscience,  speak  in  favor 
of  this  puir  unhappy" — (here  his  voice  faltered) — "She  is 
your  sister  in  the  flesh — worthless  and  castaway  as  she 
is,  she  is  the  daughter  of  a  saint  in  heaven,  that  was  a 
mother  to  you,  Jeanie,  in  place  of  your  ain — but  if  ye 
arena  free  in  conscience  to  speak  for  her  in  the  court 
of   judicature,    follow   your   conscience,    Jeanie,    and    let 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  243 

God's  will  be  done."  After  this  adjuration  he  left  the 
apartment,  and  his  daughter  remained  in  a  state  of  great 
distress  and  perplexity. 

It  would  have  been  no  small  addition  to  the  sorrows  of 
David  Deans,  even  in  this  extremity  of  suifering,  had  he 
known  that  his  daughter  was  applying  the  casuistical  ar- 
guments which  he  had  been  using,  not  in  the  sense  of  a 
permission  to  follow  her  own  opinion  on  a  dubious  and 
disputed  point  of  controversy,  but  rather  as  an  encour- 
agement to  transgress  one  of  those  divine  commandments 
which  Christians  of  all  sects  and  denominations  unite  in 
holding  most  sacred. 

"Can  this  be?"  said  Jeanie,  as  the  door  closed  on  her 
father — "Can  these  be  his  words  that  I  have  heard,  or 
has  the  Enemy  taken  his  voice  and  features  to  give 
weight  unto  the  counsel  which  causeth  to  perish? — A 
sister's  life,  and  a  father  pointing  out  how  to  save  it? — 
O  God  deliver  me ! — this  is  a  fearfu'  temptation." 

Roaming  from  thought  to  thought,  she  at  one  time  im- 
agined her  father  understood  the  ninth  commandment 
literally,  as  prohibiting  false  witness  against  our  neigh- 
bor, without  extending  the  denunciation  against  false- 
hood uttered  in  favor  of  the  criminal.  But  her  clear  and 
unsophisticated  power  of  discriminating  between  good 
and  evil,  instantly  rejected  an  interpretation  so  limited, 
and  so  unworthy  of  the  Author  of  the  law.  She  remained 
in  a  state  of  the  most  agitating  terror  and  uncertainty — 
afraid  to  communicate  her  thoughts  freely  to  her  father, 
lest  she  should  draw  forth  an  opinion  with  which  she 
could  not  comply, — wrung  with  distress  on  her  sister's 
account,  rendered  the  more  acute  by  reflecting  that  the 
means  of  saving  her  were  in  her  power,  but  were  such 
as  her  conscience  prohibited  her  from  using, — tossed,  in 
short,  like  a  vessel  in  an  open  roadstead,  during  a  storm, 
and,  like  that  vessel,  resting  on  one  only  sure  cable  and 
anchor — faith  in  Providence,  and  a  resolution  to  dis- 
charge her  duty. 

Butler's  affection  and  strong  sense  of  religion  would 
have  Ix'en  her  principal  support  in  these  distressing  cir- 
cumstances, but  he  was  still  under  restraint,  which  did 
not  permit  him  to  come  to  St.  Leonard's  Crags;  and 
her  distresses  were  of  a  nature,  which,  with  her  indilTer- 


244  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

ent  habits  of  scholarship,  she  found  it  impossible  to  ex- 
press in  writing.  She  was  therefore  compelled  to  trust 
for  guidance  to  her  own  unassisted  sense  of  what  was 
right  or  wrong. 

It  was  not  the  least  of  Jeanie's  distresses,  that,  although 
she  hoped  and  believed  her  sister  to  be  innocent,  she 
had  not  the  means  of  receiving  that  assurance  from  her 
own  mouth. 

The  double-dealing  of  Ratcliffe  in  the  matter  of  Rob- 
ertson, had  not  prevented  his  being  rewarded,  as  double- 
dealers  frequently  have  been,  with  favor  and  preferment. 
Sharpitlaw,  who  found  in  him  something  of  a  kindred 
genius,  had  been  intercessor  in  his  behalf  with  the  mag- 
istrates, and  the  circumstance  of  his  having  voluntarily 
remained  in  the  prison,  when  the  doors  were  forced  by 
the  mob,  would  have  made  it  a  hard  measure  to  take 
the  life  which  he  had  such  easy  means  of  saving.  He 
received  a  full  pardon ;  and  soon  afterward,  James  Rat- 
cliffe,  the  greatest  thief  and  housebreaker  in  Scotland, 
was,  upon  the  faith,  perhaps,  of  an  ancient  proverb,  se- 
lected as  a  person  to  be  entrusted  with  the  custody  of 
other   delinquents. 

When  Ratcliffe  was  thus  placed  in  a  confidential  situa- 
tion, he  was  repeatedly  applied  to  by  the  sapient  Saddle- 
tree and  others,  who  took  some  interest  in  the  Deans 
family,  to  procure  an  interview  between  the  sisters;  but 
the  magistrates,  who  were  extremely  anxious  for  the  ap- 
prehension of  Robertson,  had  given  strict  orders  to  the 
contrary,  hoping  that,  by  keeping  them  separate,  they 
might,  from  the  one  or  the  other,  extract  some  informa- 
tion respecting  that  fugitive.  On  this  subject  Jeanie  had 
nothing  to  tell  them:  she  informed  Mr.  Middleburgh, 
that  she  knew  nothing  of  Robertson,  except  having  met 
him  that  night  by  appointment  to  give  her  some  advice 
respecting  her  sister's  concern,  the  purport  of  which,  she 
said,  was  betwixt  God  and  her  conscience.  Of  his  mo- 
tions, purposes,  or  plans,  past,  present,  or  future,  she 
knew  nothing,  and  so  had  nothing  to  communicate. 

Effie  was  equally  silent,  though  from  a  different  cause. 
It  was  in  vain  that  they  offered  a  commutation  and  alle- 
viation of  her  punishment,  and  even  a  free  pardon,  if  she 
would  confess  what  she  knew  of  her  lover.     She  answered 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  245 

only  with  tears;  unless,  when  at  times  driven  into  pettish 
sulkiness  by  the  persecution  of  the  interrogators,  she 
made  them  abrupt  and  disrespectful  answers. 

At  length,  after  her  trial  had  been  delayed  for 
many  weeks,  in  hopes  she  might  be  induced  to  speak  out 
on  a  subject  iniinitely  more  interesting  to  the  magistracy 
than  her  own  guilt  or  innocence,  their  patience  was  worn 
out,  and  even  Mr.  Middleburgh  finding  no  ear  lent  to 
further  intercession  in  her  behalf,  the  day  was  fixed  for 
the  trial  to  proceed. 

It  was  now,  and  not  sooner,  that  Sharpitlaw,  recollect- 
ing his  promise  to  Effie  Deans,  or  rather  being  dinned 
into  compliance  by  the  unceasing  remonstrances  of  Mrs. 
Saddletree,  who  was  his  next-door  neighbor,  and  who 
declared  it  was  heathen  cruelty  to  keep  the  twa  broken- 
hearted creatures  separate,  issued  the  important  mandate, 
permitting  them  to  see  each  other. 

On  the  evening  which  preceded  the  eventful  day  of 
trial,  Jeanie  was  permitted  to  see  her  sister — an  awful 
inters'iew,  and  occurring  at  a  most  distressing  crisis. 
This,  however,  formed  a  part  of  the  bitter  cup  which  she 
was  doomed  to  drink,  to  atone  for  crimes  and  follies  to 
which  she  had  no  accession;  and  at  twelve  o'clock  noon, 
being  the  time  appointed  for  admission  to  the  jail,  she 
went  to  meet,  for  the  first  time  for  several  months,  her 
guilty,  erring,  and  most  miserable  sister,  in  that  abode 
of  guilt,  error,  and  utter  misery. 


CHAPTER   XX 


-Sweet  sister,  let  me  live  I 


What   sin    you   do   to    save    a   brother's    life. 
Nature  dispenses  with  the  deed  so  far, 
That    it    becomes   a   virtue. 

Measure  for  Measure. 

Je.\nie  Deans  was  admitted  into  the  jail  by  Ratcliffe. 
This  fellow,  as  void  of  shame  as  of  honesty,  as  he  opened 
the  now  trebly  secured  door,  asked  her,  with  a  leer  which 
made  her  shudder,  "whether  she  remembered  him?" 


246  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

A  half-pronounced  and  timid  '"No,"  was  her  answer. 

"What!  not  remember  moonlight,  and  Muschat's  Cairn, 
and  Rob  and  Rat?"  said  he,  with  the  same  sneer; — 
"Your  memory  needs  redding  up,  my  jo." 

If  Jeanie's  distresses  had  admitted  of  aggravation,  it 
must  have  been  to  find  her  sister  under  the  charge  of 
such  a  profligate  as  this  man.  He  was  not,  indeed, 
without  something  of  good  to  balance  so  much  that  was 
evil  in  his  character  and  habits.  In  his  misdemeanors 
he  had  never  been  bloodthirsty  or  cruel;  and  in  his  pres- 
ent occupation,  he  had  shown  himself,  in  a  certain  de- 
gree, accessible  to  touches  of  humanity.  But  these  good 
qualities  were  unknown  to  Jeanie,  who,  remembering  the 
scene  at  Muschat's  Cairn,  could  scarce  find  voice  to  ac- 
quaint him,  that  she  had  an  order  from  Bailie  Middle- 
burgh,  permitting  her  to  see  her  sister. 

'T  ken  that  fu'  weel,  my  bonny  doo;  mair  by  token,  I 
have  a  special  charge  to  stay  in  the  ward  with  you  a' 
the  time  ye  are  thegither." 

"Must  that  be  sae?"  asked  Jeanie,  with  an  imploring 
voice. 

"Hout,  ay,  hinny,"  replied  the  turnkey,  "and  what  the 
waur  will  you  and  your  titty  be  of  Jim  Ratcliffe  hearing 
what  ye  hae  to  say  to  ilk  other? — Deil  a  word  ye'll  say 
that  will  gar  him  ken  your  kittle  sex  better  than  he 
kens  them  already;  and  another  thing  is,  that  if  ye  dinna 
speak  o'  breaking  the  Tolbooth,  deil  a  word  will  I  tell 
ower,  either  to  do  ye  good  or  ill." 

Thus  saying,  Ratcliffe  marshalled  her  the  way  to  the 
apartment  where  Effie  was  confined. 

Shame,  fear,  and  grief  had  contended  for  mastery  in 
the  poor  prisoner's  bosom  during  the  whole  morning, 
while  she  had  looked  forward  to  this  meeting;  but  when 
the  door  opened,  all  gave  way  to  a  confused  and  strange 
feeling  that  had  a  tinge  of  joy  in  it,  as,  throwing  herself 
on  her  sister's  neck,  she  ejaculated,  "My  dear  Jeanie! — 
my  dear  Jeanie !  it's  lang  since  I  hae  seen  ye."  Jeanie 
returned  the  embrace  with  an  earnestness  that  partook 
almost  of  rapture,  but  it  was  only  a  flitting  emotion,  like 
a  sunbeam  unexpectedly  penetrating  betwixt  the  clouds 
of  a  tempest,  and  obscured  almost  as  soon  as  visible. 
The   sisters   walked   together   to   the   side   of   the   pallet 


THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  247' 

bed,  and  sate  down  side  by  side,  took  hold  of  each  other's  i 
hands,  and  looked  each  other  in  the  face,  but  without! 
speaking  a  w^ord.  In  this  posture  they  remained  for  aj 
minute,  while  the  gleam  of  joy  gradually  faded  from  I 
their  features,  and  gave  way  to  the  most  intense  expres-j 
sion,  first  of  melancholy,  and  then  of  agony,  till,  throw-, 
ing  themselves  again  into  each  other's  arms,  they,  toj 
use  the  language  of  Scripture,  lifted  up  their  voices  and  I 
wept  bitterly.  ' 

Even  the  hard-hearted  turnkey,  who  had  spent  his  lifei 
in  scenes  calculated  to  stifle  both  conscience  and  feeling,  ■ 
could  not  witness  this  scene  without  a  touch  of  human i 
sympathy.  It  was  shown  in  a  trifling  action,  but  w^hichj 
had  more  delicacy  in  it  than  seemed  to  belong  to  Rat-j 
cliife's  character  and  station.  The  unglazed  window! 
of  the  miserable  chamber  was  open,  and  the  beams  of  a  I 
bright  sun  fell  right  upon  the  bed  where  the  sufferers' 
were  seated.  With  a  gentleness  that  had  something  ofj 
reverence  in  it,  Ratcliffe  partly  closed  the  shutter,  and  j 
seemed  thus  to  throw  a  veil  over  a  scene  so  sorrowful.      ! 

'*Ye  are  ill,  Effie,"  were  the  first  words  Jeanie  could  j 
utter;  "ye  are  very  ill.''     ^  \ 

"Oh,  what  wad  I  gie  to  be  ten  times  waur,  Jeanie  !"j 
was  the  reply — "what  wad  I  gie  to  be  cauld  dead  afore' 
the  ten  o'clock  bell  the  morn !     And  our  father — but  I 
am  his  bairn  nae  langer  now — Oh,  I  hae  nae  friend  left 
in  the  warld ! — Oh,  that  I  w^ere  lying  dead  at  my  mother's 
side,  in  Newbattle  kirkyard!" 

"Hout,  lassie,"  said  Ratclifl"e,  willing  to  show  the  in- 
terest which  he  absolutely  felt,  "dinna  be  sae  dooms 
down-hearted  as  a'  that ;  there's  mony  a  tod  hunted  that's 
no  killed.  Advocate  Langtale  has  brought  folk  through 
waur  snappers  than  a'  this,  and  there's  no  a  clever  agent 
than  Xichil  Novit  e'er  drew  a  bill  of  suspension.  Hanged 
or  unhanged,  they  are  weel  aff  has  sic  an  agent  and  coun- 
sel; ane's  sure  o'  fair  play.  Ye  are  a  bonny  lass,  too,  an 
ye  wad  busk  up  your  cockernonie  a  bit;  and  a  bonny  lass 
will  find  favor  wi'  judge  and  jury,  when  they  would  strap 
up  a  gruesome  carle  like  me  for  the  fifteenth  part  of  a 
flea's  hide  and  tallow,  d — n  them." 

To  this  homely  strain  of  consolation  the  mourners  re- 
turned no  answer;  indeed,  they  were  so  much  lost  in  their 


248  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

own  sorrows  as  to  have  become  insensible  of  Ratcliffe's 
presence.  "O  Effie,"  said  her  elder  sister,  "how  could 
you  conceal  your  situation  from  me?  O  woman,  had  I 
deserved  this  at  your  hand? — had  ye  spoke  but  ae  word — 
sorry  we  mis^ht  hae  been,  and  shamed  we  might  hae  been, 
but  this  awfu'  dispensation  had  never  come  ower  us." 

"And  what  gude  wad  that  hae  done?"  answered  the 
prisoner.  "JSTa,  na,  Jeanie,  a'  was  ower  when  ance  I  for- 
got what  I  promised  when  I  faulded  down  the  leaf  of  my 
Bible.  See,"  she  said,  producing  the  sacred  volume,  "the 
book  opens  aye  at  the  place  o'  itsell.  Oh  see,  Jeanie,  what 
a  fearfu'  scripture." 

Jeanie  took  her  sister's  Bible,  and  found  that  the  fatal 
mark  was  made  at  this  impressive  text  in  the  book  of 
Job:  "He  hath  stripped  me  of  my  glory,  and  taken  the 
crown  from  my  head.  He  hath  destroyed  me  on  every 
side,  and  I  am  gone.  And  mine  hope  hath  He  removed 
like  a  tree." 

"Isna  that  ower  true  a  doctrine?"  said  the  prisoner — 
"Isna  my  crown,  my  honor  removed?  And  what  am  I 
but  a  poor  wasted,  wan-thriven  tree,  dug  up  by  the  roots, 
and  flung  out  to  waste  in  the  highway,  that  man  and 
beast  may  tread  it  under  foot?  I  thought  o'  the  bonny 
bit  thorn  that  our  father  rooted  out  o'  the  yard  last  May, 
when  it  had  a'  the  flush  o'  blossoms  on  it;  and  then  it 
lay  in  the  court  till  the  beasts  had  trod  them  a'  to  pieces 
wi'  their  feet.  I  little  thought,  when  I  was  wae  for  the 
bit  silly  green  bush  and  its  flowers,  that  I  was  to  gang 
the  same  gate  mysell." 

"Oh,  if  ye  had  spoken  a  word,"  again  sobbed  Jeanie, — 
"if  I  were  free  to  swear  that  ye  had  said  but  ae  word  of 
how  it  stude  wi'  ye,  they  couldna  hae  touched  your  life 
this  daj." 

"Could  they  na  ?"  said  Effie,  with  something  like  awak- 
ened interest — for  life  is  dear  even  to  those  who  feel  it 
as  a  burden — "Wha  tauld  ye  that,  Jeanie?" 

"It  was  ane  that  kend  what  he  was  saying  weel 
eneugh,"  replied  Jeanie,  who  had  a  natural  reluctance 
at  mentioning  even  the  name  of  her  sister's  seducer. 

"Wha  was  it? — I  conjure  ye  to  tell  me,"  said  Effie, 
seating  herself  upright. — "Wha  could  tak  interest  in. 
sic  a  cast-by  as  I  am  now? — Was  it — was  it  him?" 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  249 

"Ilout,"  said  RatclitTe,  ''what  signifies  keeping  the  poor 
lassie  in  a  swither?  I'se  uphaud  it's  been  Robertson  that 
learned  ye  that  doctrine  when  ye  saw  him  at  Muschat's 
Cairn." 

"Was  it  him?"  said  Effie,  catching  eagerly  at  his  words 
— "was  it  him,  Jeanie,  indeed? — Oh,  I  see  it  was  him — 
poor  lad,  and  I  was  thinking  his  heart  was  as  hard  as 
the  nether  millstane — and  him  in  sic  danger  on  his  ain 
part — poor  George !"  ' 

Somewhat  indignant  at  this  burst  of  tender  feeling 
toward  the  author  of  her  misery,  Jeanie  could  not  help 
exclaiming — "O  Effie,  how  can  ye  speak  that  gate  of  sic 
a  man  as  that?" 

"We  maun  forgie  our  enemies,  ye  ken,"  said  poor  Ef- 
fie, with  a  timid  look  and  a  subdued  voice;  for  her  con- 
science told  her  what  a  different  character  the  feelings 
with  which  she  still  regarded  her  seducer  bore,  compared 
with  the  Christian  charity  under  which  she  attempted 
to  veil  it. 

"And  ye  hae  suffered  a'  this  for  him,  and  ye  can  think 
of  loving  him  still?"  said  her  sister,  in  a  voice  betwixt 
pity  and   blame, 

"Love  him?"  answered  Effie — "If  I  hadna  loved  as 
woman  seldom  loves,  I  hadna  been  within  these  wa's  this 
day;  and  trow  ye,  that  love  sic  as  mine  is  lightly  forgot- 
ten?— Na,  na — ye  may  hew  down  the  tree,  but  ye  canna 
change  its  bend — And  O  Jeanie,  if  ye  wad  do  good  to  me 
at  this  moment,  tell  me  every  word  that  he  said,  and 
whether  he  was  sorry  for  poor  Effie  or  no !" 

"What  needs  I  tell  ye  onything  about  it,"  said  Jeanie. 
"Ye  may  be  sure  he  had  ower  muckle  to  do  to  save  him- 
sell,  to  speak  lang  or  muckle  about  onybody  beside." 

"That's  no  true,  Jeanie,  though  a  saunt  had  said  it," 
replied  Effie,  with  a  sparkle  of  her  former  lively  and  irri- 
table temper.  "Hut  ye  dinna  ken,  though  I  do,  how  far 
he  pat  his  life  in  venture  to  save  mine."  And  looking  at 
Ratclilff,   she  che<*k('<]    herself  and   was  silent. 

"I  fancy."  said  Ratclitle,  with  one  of  his  familiar 
sneers,  "the  lassie  thinks  that  naebody  has  een  but  her- 
sell — Didna  I  see  when  Gentle  Geordie  was  seeking  to 
get  other  folk  out  of  the  Tolbooth  forby  Jock  Porteous? 
but  ye  are  of  my  mind,  hinny — better  sit  and  rue,  tlian 


250  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

flit  and  rue — Ye  needna  look  in  my  face  sae  amazed.  I 
ken  mair  things  than  that,  maybe." 

"O  my  God!  my  God!"  said  Effie,  springing  up  and 
throwing  herself  down  on  her  knees  before  him — "D'ye 
ken  where  they  hae  putten  my  bairn? — O  my  bairn!  my 
bairn!  the  poor  sackless  innocent  new-born  wee  ane — • 
bone  of  my  bone,  and  flesh  of  my  flesh ! — O  man,  if  ye 
wad  e'er  deserve  a  portion  in  heaven,  or  a  broken-hearted 
creature's  blessing  upon  earth,  tell  me  where  they  hae 
put  my  bairn — the  sign  of  my  shame,  and  the  partner  of 
my  suffering!  tell  me  wha  has  taen't  away,  or  what  they 
hae  dune  wi't !" 

"Hout  tout,"  said  the  turnkey,  endeavoring  to  extricate 
himself  from  the  firm  grasp  with  which  she  held  him, 
"that's  taking  me  at  my  word  wi'  a  witness — Bairn,  quo' 
she?  How  the  deil  suld  I  ken  onything  of  your  bairn, 
hussy?  Ye  maun  ask  that  of  auld  Meg  Murdockson,  if 
ye  dinna  ken  ower  muckle  about  it  yoursell." 

As  his  answer  destroyed  the  wild  and  vague  hope  which 
had  suddenly  gleamed  upon  her,  the  unhappy  prisoner 
let  go  her  hold  of  his  coat,  and  fell  with  her  face  on  the 
pavement  of  the  apartment  in  a  strong  convulsion  fit. 

Jeanie  Deans  possessed,  with  her  excellently  clear  un- 
derstanding, the  concomitant  advantage  of  promptitude 
of  spirit,  even  in  the  extremity  of  distress. 

She  did  not  suffer  herself  to  be  overcome  by  her  own 
feelings  of  exquisite  sorrow,  but  instantly  applied  herself 
to  her  sister's  relief,  with  the  readiest  remedies  which 
circumstances  afforded;  and  which,  to  do  Ratcliffe  jus- 
tice, he  showed  himself  anxious  to  suggest,  and  alert  in 
procuring.  He  had  even  the  delicacy  to  withdraw  to  the 
farthest  corner  of  the  room,  so  as  to  render  his  official 
attendance  upon  them  as  little  intrusive  as  possible,  when 
Effie  was  composed  enough  again  to  resume  her  confer- 
ence with  her  sister. 

The  prisoner  once  more,  in  the  most  earnest  and  broken 
tones,  conjured  Jeanie  to  tell  her  the  particulars  of  the 
conference  with  Robertson,  and  Jeanie  felt  it  was  im- 
possible to  refuse  her  this  gratification. 

"Do  ye  mind,"  she  said,  "Effie,  when  ye  were  in  the 
fever  before  we  left  Woodend,  and  how  angry  your 
mother,  that's  now  in  a  better  place,  was  wi'  me  for  gie- 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  251 

ing  ye  milk  and  water  to  drink,  because  ye  grat  for  it  ? 
Ye  were  a  bairn  then,  and  ye  are  a  woman  now,  and 
should  ken  better  than  ask  what  canna  but  hurt  you — - 
But  come  weal  or  woe,  I  canna  refuse  ye  onything  that 
ye  ask  me  wi'  the  tear  in  your  ee." 

Again  Effie  threw  herself  into  her  arms,  and  kissed  her 
cheek  and  forehead,  murmuring,  "Oh,  if  you  kend  how 
lang  it  is  since  I  heard  his  name  mentioned! — if  ye  but 
kend  how  muckle  good  it  does  me  but  to  ken  onything  o' 
liim,  that's  like  goodness  or  kindness,  ye  wadna  wonder 
that  I  wish  to  hear  o'  him!" 

Jeanie  sighed,  and  commenced  her  narrative  of  all  that 
had  passed  betwixt  Robertson  and  her,  making  it  as  brief 
as  possible.  Effie  listened  in  breathless  anxiety,  holding 
her  sister's  hand  in  hers,  and  keeping  her  eye  fixed  upon 
her  face,  as  if  devouring  every  word  she  uttered.  The 
interjections  of  "Poor  fellow,'' — "Poor  George,"  which 
escaped  in  whispers,  and  betwixt  sighs,  were  the  only 
sounds  with  which  she  interrupted  the  story.  When  it 
was  finished  she  made  a  long  pause. 

"And  this  was  his  advice?''  were  the  first  words  she 
uttered. 

''Just  sic  as  I  hae  tell'd  ye,"  replied  her  sister. 

"And  he  wanted  you  to  say  something  to  yon  folks, 
that  wad  save  my  young  life  ?'' 

"He  wanted,"  answered  Jeanie,  "that  I  suld  be  man- 
sworn." 

"And  you  tauld  him,"  said  Effie,  "that  ye  wadna  hear 
o'  coming  between  me  and  the  death  that  I  am  to  die, 
and  me  no  aughtecn  year  auld  yet  ?" 

"I  told  him,"  replied  Jeanie,  who  now  trembled  at  the 
turn  which  her  sister's  reflections  seemed  about  to  take, 
"that  I  daured  na  swear  to  an  untruth." 

"And    what    d'ye    ca'    an    untruth?''    said    Effie,    again 
showing  a   touch  of  her  former  spirit — "Ye  are  mu<'kle 
to  blame,  lass,  if  ye  think  a  mother  would,  or  could,  mur- ' 
der  her   ain   bairn — ^lurder? — I   wad   hae  laid   down   my 
life  just  to  see  a  blink  o'  its  ee!" 

"I  do  believe,"  said  Jeanie,  "that  ye  are  as  innocent  of 
sic  a  purpose  as  the  new-born  babe  itsell." 

"I  am  glad  ye  do  me  that  justice,"  said  Effie  haughtily; 
"it's  whiles  the  faut  of  very  good  folk  like  you,  Jeanie, 


252  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

that  they  think  a'  the  rest  of  the  warld  are  as  bad  as  the 
warst  temptations  can  make  them." 

"I  dinna  deserve  this  frae  ye,  Effie,"  said  her  sister, 
sobbing,  and  feeling  at  once  the  injustice  of  the  re- 
proach, and  compassion  for  the  state  of  mind  which  dic- 
tated it. 

"Maybe  no,  sister,"  said  Effie.  "But  ye  are  angry  be- 
cause I  love  Robertson — How  can  I  help  loving  him,  that 
loves  me  better  than  body  and  soul  baith? — Here  he  put 
his  life  in  a  niifer,  to  break  the  prison  to  let  me  out;  and 
sure  am  I,  had  it  stood  wi'  him  as  it  stands  wi'  you" — 
Here  she  paused  and  was  silent. 

"Oh,  if  it  stude  wi'  me  to  save  ye  wi'  risk  of  my  life!" 
said  Jeanie. 

"Ay,  lass,"  said  her  sister,  "that's  lightly  said,  but  no 
sae  lightly  credited;  frae  ane  that  winna  ware  a  word 
for  me;  and  if  it  be  a  wrang  word,  ye'll  hae  time  eneugh 
to  repent  o't." 

"But  that  word  is  a  grievous  sin,  and  it's  a  deeper  of- 
fence when  it's  a  sin  wilfully  and  presumptuously  com- 
mitted." 

"Weel,  weel,  Jeanie,"  said  Effie,  "I  mind  a'  about  the 
sins  o'  presumption  in  the  questions — we'll  speak  nae 
mair  about  this  matter,  and  ye  may  save  your  breath  to 
say  your  carritch;  and  for  me,  I'll  soon  hae  nae  breath 
to  waste  on  onybody." 

"I  must  needs  say,"  interposed  Batcliffe,  "that  it's 
d — d  hard,  when  three  words  of  your  mouth  would  give 
the  girl  the  chance  to  nick  Moll  Blood,*  that  you  make 
such  scrupling  about  rapping  to  them.  D — n  me,  if  they 
would  take  me,  if  I  would  not  rap  to  all  Whatd'yecallums 
— Hyssop's  Fables,  for  her  life — I  am  us'd  to't,  b — t  me, 
for  less  matters.  Why,  I  have  smacked  calk-skin  fifty 
times  in  England  for  a  keg  of  brandy." 

"Never  speak  mair  o't,"  said  the  prisoner.  "It's  just 
as  weel  as  it  is — and  gude  day,  sister;  ye  keep  Mr.  Bat- 
cliffe waiting  on — Ye'll  come  back  and  see  me,  I  reckon, 
before "  here  she  stopped,  and  became  deadly  pale. 

"And  are  we  to  part  in  this  way,"  said  Jeanie,  "and 
you  in  sic  deadly  peril?     O  Effie,  look  but  up,  and  say 

*  The  gallows. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  253 

what  ye  wad  hae  me  do,  and  1  could  liud  in  my  heart 
amaist  to  say  that  I  would  do't." 

"No,  Jeanie,"  replied  her  sister,  after  an  effort,  "I  am 
better  minded  now.  At  my  best,  I  was  never  half  sae 
gude  as  ye  were,  and  what  tor  suld  you  begin  to  mak 
yoursell  waur  to  save  me,  now  that  I  am  no  worth  sav- 
ing? God  knows,  that  in  my  sober  mind,  I  wadna  wuss 
ony  living  creature  to  do  a  wrong  thing  to  save  my  life. 
I  might  have  fled  frae  this  tolbooth  on  that  awfu'  night 
wi'  ane  wad  hae  carried  me  through  the  warld,  and 
friended  me,  and  fended  for  me.  But  I  said  to  them,  let 
life  gang  when  gude  fame  is  gane  before  it.  But  this 
lang  imprisonment  has  broken  my  spirit,  and  I  am  whiles 
sair  left  to  mysell,  and  then  I  wad  gie  the  Indian  mines 
of  gold  and  diamonds,  just  for  life  and  breath — for  I 
think,  Jeanie,  I  have  such  roving  fits  as  I  used  to  hae 
in  tihe  fever;  but,  instead  of  the  fiery  een,  and  woWes, 
and  Widow  Butler's  bullseg,  that  I  used  to  see  spieling 
up  on  my  ^ed,  I  am  thinking  now  about  a  high,  black 
gibbet,  and  me  standing  up,  and  such  seas  of  faces  all 
looking  up  at  poor  Effie  Deans,  and  asking  if  it  be  her 
that  George  Robertson  used  to  call  the  Lily  of  St.  Leon- 
ard's. And  then  they  stretch  out  their  faces,  and  make 
mouths,  and  grin  at  me,  and  which  ever  way  I  look,  I  see 
a  face  laughing  like  Meg  Murdockson,  when  she  tauld 
me  I  had  seen  the  last  of  my  wean.  God  preserve  us, 
Jeanie,  that  carline  has  a  fearsome  face!"  She  clapped 
her  hands  before  her  eyes  as  she  uttered  this  exclamation, 
as  if  to  secure  herself  against  seeing  the  fearful  object 
she  had  alluded  to. 

Jeanie  Deans  remained  with  her  sister  for  two  hours, 
during  which  she  endeavored,  if  possible,  to  extract  some- 
thing from  her  that  might  be  serviceable  in  her  exculpa- 
tion. But  she  had  nothing  to  say  beyond  what  she  had 
declared  on  her  first  examination,  with  the  purport  of 
which  the  reader  will  be  made  acquainted  in  proper  time 
and  place.  "They  wadna  believe  her,"  she  said,  "and 
she  had  nacthing  mair  to  tell  them." 

At  length  Ratcliffe,  though  reluctantly,  informed  the 
sisters  that  there  was  a  necessity  that  they  should  part. 
"Mr.    Novit,"    he   said,    "was    to    see    the    prisoner,    and 


254  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

maybe   Mr.   Langtale   too.     Langtale  likes   to   look   at   a 
bonny  lass,  whether  in  prison  or  out  o'  prison." 

Reluctantly,  therefore,  and  slowly,  after  many  a  tear, 
and  many  an  embrace,  Jeanie  retired  from  the  af)art- 
ment,  and  heard  its  jarring  bolts  turned  upon  the  dear 
being  from  whom  she  was  separated.  Somewhat  famil- 
iarized now  even  with  her  rude  conductor,  she  oifered 
him  a  small  present  in  money,  with  a  request  he  would 
do  what  he  could  for  her  sister's  accommodation.  To 
her  surprise,  Ratcliffe  declined  the  fee.  "I  wasna  bloody 
when  I  was  on  the  pad,"  he  said,  "and  I  winna  be  greedy 
— that  is,  beyond  what's  right  and  reasonable — now  that 
I  am  in  the  lock. — Keep  the  siller;  and  for  civility,  your 
sister  shall  hae  sic  as  I  can  bestow;  but  I  hope  you'll 
think  better  on  it,  and  rap  an  oath  for  her — deil  a  hair 
ill  there  is  in  it,  if  ye  are  rapping  again  the  crown.  I 
kend  a  worthy  minister,  as  gude  a  man,  bating  the  deed 
they  deposed  him  for,  as  ever  ye  heard  claver  in  pu'pit, 
that  rapped  to  a  hogshead  of  pigtail  tobacco,  just  for  as 
muckle  as  filled  his  spleuchan.  But  maybe  ye  are  keep- 
ing your  ain  counsel — weel,  weel,  there's  nae  harm  in 
that.  As  for  your  sister,  I'se  see  that  she  gets  her  meat 
clean  and  warm,  and  I'll  try  to  gar  her  lie  down  and 
take  a  sleep  after  dinner,  for  deil  a  ee  she'll  close  the 
night.  I  hae  gude  experience  of  these  matters.  The 
first  night  is  aye  the  warst  o't.  I  hae  never  heard  o'  ane 
that  sleepit  the  night  afore  trial,  but  of  mony  a  ane  that 
sleepit  as  sound  as  a  tap  the  night  before  their  necks 
were  straughted.  And  it's  nae  wonder — the  warst  may 
be  tholed  when  it's  kend — Better  a  finger  aif  as  aye 
wagging." 


CHAPTER   XXI 

Yet    though    thou    mayst    be    dragg'd    in    scorn 

To   yonder   ignominious   tree, 
Thou   shalt   not   want    one   faithful   friend 

To    share  the   cruel   fates'   decree. 

Jemmy  Dawson. 

After  spending  the  greater  part  of  the  morning  in  his 
devotions  (for  his  benevolent  neighbors  had  kindly  in- 
sisted   upon    discharging    his    task    of    ordinary    Inbor), 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHlxVX  255 

David  Deans  entered  the  apartment  when  the  breakfast 
meal  was  prepared.  His  eyes  were  involuntarily  cast 
down,  for  he  was  afraid  to  look  at  Jeanie,  uncertain  as 
he  was  whether  she  might  feel  herself  at  liberty,  with  a 
grood  conscience,  to  attend  the  Court  of  Justiciary  that 
day,  to  give  the  evidence  which  he  understood  that  she 
possessed,  in  order  to  her  sister's  exculpation.  At  length, 
after  a  minute  of  apprehensive  hesitation,  he  looked  at 
her  dress  to  discover  whether  it  seemed  to  be  in  her  con- 
templation to  go  abroad  that  morning.  Her  apparel  was 
neat  and  plain,  but  such  as  conveyed  no  exact  intima- 
tion of  her  intentions  to  go  abroad.  She  had  exchanged 
her  usual  garb  for  morning  labor,  for  one  something  in- 
ferior to  that  with  which,  as  her  best,  she  was  wont  to 
dress  herself  for  church,  or  any  more  rare  occasion  of 
going  into  society.  Her  sense  taught  her  that  it  was 
respectful  to  be  decent  in  her  apparel  on  such  an  oc- 
casion, while  her  feelings  induced  her  to  lay  aside  the 
use  of  the  very  few  and  simple  personal  ornaments,  which, 
on  other  occasions,  she  permitted  herself  to  wear.  So 
that  there  occurred  nothing  in  her  external  appearance 
which  could  mark  out  to  her  father,  with  anything  like 
certainty,  her  intentions  on   this  occasion. 

The  preparations  for  their  humble  meal  were  that 
morning  made  in  vain.  The  father  and  daughter  sat, 
each  assuming  the  appearance  of  eating,  when  the  other's 
eyes  were  turned  to  them,  and  desisting  from  the  ert'ort 
with  disgust,  when  the  aifectionate  imposture  seemed  no 
longer  necessary. 

At  length  these  moments  of  constraint  were  removed. 
The  sound  of  St.  Giles's  'heavy  toll  announced  the  hour 
j)revious  to  the  commencement  of  the  trial;  Jeanie  arose, 
and  with  a  degree  of  composure  for  which  she  herself  could 
not  account,  assumed  h(*r  plaid,  and  made  her  other  i)rep- 
arations  for  a  distant  walking.  It  was  a  strange  contrast 
between  the  firmness  of  her  demeanor,  and  the  vacillation 
and  cruel  uncertainty  of  purpose  indicated  in  all  her 
father's  motions;  and  one  unacquainted  with  both  could 
scarcely  have  supposed  that  the  former  was,  in  her  or- 
dinary haoits  of  life,  a  docile,  quiet,  gentle,  and  even 
timid  country  maiden,  while  her  father,  with  a  mind 
naturally  proud   mid   strong,   and  supported  by  religious 


256  THE   HEART    OE    MID-LOTHIAN 

opinions,  of  a  stern,  stoical,  and  unyielding  character, 
had  in  his  time  undergone  and  withstood  the  most  severe 
hardships,  and  the  most  imminent  peril,  without  depres- 
sion of  spirit,  or  subjugation  of  his  constancy.  The 
secret  of  this  difference  was,  that  Jeanie's  mind  had  al- 
ready anticipated  the  line  of  conduct  which  she  must 
adopt,  with  all  its  natural  and  necessary  consequences; 
while  her  father,  ignorant  of  every  other  circumstance, 
tormented  himself  with  imagining  what  the  one  sister 
might  say  or  swear,  or  what  effect  her  testimony  might 
have  upon  the  awful  event  of  the  trial. 

He  watched  his  daughter  with  a  faltering  and  inde- 
cisive look,  until  she  looked  back  upon  him,  with  a  look 
of  unutterable  anguish,  as  she  was  about  to  leave  the 
apartment. 

"My  dear  lassie,"  said  he,  "I  will" — His  action,  hastily 
and  confusedly  searching  for  his  worsted  mittens  ^  and 
staff,  showed  his  purpose  of  accompanying  her,  though 
his  tongue  failed  distinctly  to  announce  it. 

"Father,"  said  Jeanie,  replying  rather  to  his  action 
than  his  words,  "ye  had  better  not." 

"In  the  strength  of  my  God,"  answered  Deans,  assum- 
ing firmness,  "I  will  go  forth." 

And,  taking  his  daughter's  arm  under  his,  he  began  to 
walk  from  the  door  with  a  step  so  hasty  that  she  was  al- 
most unable  to  keep  up  with  him.  A  trifling  circum- 
stance, but  which  marked  the  perturbed  state  of  his  mind, 
checked  his  course. — "Your  bonnet,  father?"  said  Jeanie, 
who  observed  he  had  come  out  with  his  gray  hairs  un- 
covered. He  turned  back  with  a  slight  blush  on  his 
cheek,  being  ashamed  to  have  been  detected  in  an  omis- 
sion which  indicated  so  much  mental  confusion,  assumed 
his  large  blue  Scottish  bonnet,  and  with  a  step  slower, 
but  more  composed,  as  if  the  circumstance  had  obliged 
him  to  summon  up  his  resolution,  and  collect  his  scat- 
tered ideas,  again  placed  his  daughter's  arm  under  his, 
and  resumed  the  way  to  Edinburgh. 

The  courts  of  justice  were  then  and  are  still  held  in 
what    is    called   the   Parliament    Close,    or,    according   to 

*  A  kind   of  worsted   gloves  used  by   the   lower   orders. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  257 

modern  phrase,  the  Parliament  Square,  and  occupied  the 
buildings  intended  for  the  accommodation  of  the  Scot- 
tish Estates.  This  edifice,  though  in  an  imperfect  and 
corrupted  style  of  architecture,  had  then  a  grave,  decent, 
and,  as  it  were,  a  judicial  aspect,  which  was  at  least  en- 
titled to  respect  from  its  antiquity.  For  which  venerable 
front,  I  observed,  on  my  last  occasional  visit  to  the  me- 
tropolis, that  modern  taste  had  substituted,  at  great  ap- 
parent expense,  a  pile  so  utterly  inconsistent  with  every 
monument  of  antiquity  around,  and  in  itself  so  clumsy 
at  the  same  time  and  fantastic,  that  it  may  be  likened 
to  the  decorations  of  Tom  Errand  the  porter,  in  the  Trip 
to  the  Jubilee,  when  he  appears  bedizened  with  the  tawdry 
finery  of  Beau  Clincher.  Sed  transeat  cum  cceteris  er- 
ror ih  us. 

The  small  quadrangle,  or  Close,  if  we  may  presume 
still  to  give  it  that  appropriate,  though  antiquated  title, 
which  at  Lichfield,  Salisbury,  and  elsewhere,  is  properly 
applied  to  designate  the  enclosure  adjacent  to  a  cathedral, 
already  evinced  tokens  of  the  fatal  scene  which  was  that 
day  to  be  acted.  The  soldiers  of  the  City  Guard  were  on 
their  posts,  now  enduring,  and  now  rudely  repelling  with 
the  butts  of  their  muskets,  the  motley  crew  who  thrust 
each  other  forward,  to  catch  a  glance  at  the  unfortunate 
object  of  trial,  as  she  should  pass  from  the  adjacent 
prison  to  the  Court  in  which  her  fate  was  to  be  deter- 
mined. All  must  have  occasionally  observed,  with  dis- 
gust, the  apathy  with  which  the  vulgar  gaze  on  scenes  of 
this  nature,  and  how  seldom,  unless  when  their  sympa- 
thies are  called  forth  by  some  striking  and  extraordinary 
circumstance,  the  crowd  evince  any  interest  deeper  than 
that  of  callous,  unthinking  bustle,  and  brutal  curiosity. 
They  laugh,  jest,  quarrel,  and  push  each  other  to  and 
fro,  with  the  same  unfeeling  inditTerence  as  if  they  were 
assembled  for  some  holiday  sport,  or  to  see  an  idle  pro- 
cession. Occasionally,  however,  this  demeanor,  so  natu- 
ral to  the  degraded  populace  of  a  large  town,  is  exchanged 
for  a  temporary  touch  of  human  affections;  and  so  it 
chanced  on  the  present  occasion. 

When  Deans  and  his  daughter  presented  themselves  in 
the  Close,  and  ('ndoavorcd   to  make  their  wav  forward  to 


258  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

the  door  of  the  Court-house,  they  became  involved  in  the 
mob,  and  subject,  of  course,  to  their  insolence.  As  Deans 
repelled  with  some  force  the  rude  pushes  which  he  re- 
ceived on  all  sides,  his  figure  and  antiquated  dress  caught 
the  attention  of  the  rabble,  who  often  show  an  intuitive 
sharpness  in  ascribing  the  proper  character  from  external 
appearance. — 

"Ye're  welcome,  whigs, 
Frae  Bothwell  briggs," 

sung  one  fellow  (for  the  mob  of  Edinburgh  were  at  that 
time  jacobitically  disposed,  probably  because  that  was 
the  line  of  sentiment  most  diametrically  opposite  to  ex- 
isting authority). 

"Mess  David  Williamson, 
Chosen   of  twenty, 
Ran  up  the  pu'pit  stair. 
And  sang  Killiecrankie," 

chanted  a  siren,  whose  profession  might  be  guessed  by 
her  appearance.  A  tattered  cadie,  or  errand  porter,  whom 
David  Deans  had  jostled  in  his  attempt  to  extricate  him- 
self from  the  vicinity  of  these  scorners,  exclaimed  in  a 
strong  north-country  tone,  "Ta  deil  ding  out  her  Camer- 
onian  een — what  gies  her  titles  to  dunch  gentlemans 
about  ?" 

^'Make  room  for  the  ruling  elder,"  said  yet  another; 
''he  comes  to  see  a  precious  sister  glorify  God  in  the 
Grassmarket !" 

"Whisht;  shame's  in  ye,  sirs,"  said  the  voice  of  a  man 
very  loudly,  which,  as  quickly  sinking,  said  in  a  low,  but 
distinct  tone,  "It's  her  father  and  sister." 

All  fell  back  to  make  way  for  the  sufferers;  and  all, 
even  the  very  rudest  and  most  profligate,  were  struck 
with  shame  and  silence.  In  the  space  thus  abandoned 
to  them  by  the  mob.  Deans  stood,  holding  his  daughter 
by  the  hand,  and  said  to  her,  with  a  countenance  strongly 
and  sternly  expressive  of  his  internal  emotion,  "Ye  hear 
V7tih  your  ears,  and  ye  see  with  your  eyes,  where  and  to 
whom  the  backslidings  and  defections  of  professors  are 
ascribed  by  the  scoffers.     Xot  to  themselves  alone,  but  to 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  259 

the  kirk  of  which  they  are  members,  and  to  its  blessed 
and  invisible  Head.  Then,  weel  may  we  take  wi'  patience 
our  share  and  portion  of  this  outspreading  reproach," 

The  man  who  had  spoken,  no  other  than  our  old  friend 
Dumbiedikes,  whose  mouth,  like  that  of  the  prophet's  ass, 
had  been  opened  by  the  emergency  of  the  case,  now  joined 
them,  and,  with  his  usual  taciturnity,  escorted  them  into 
the  Court-house.  No  opposition  was  offered  to  their  en- 
trance, either  by  the  guards  or  door-keepers;  and  it  is 
even  said  that  one  of  the  latter  refused  a  shilling  of 
civility-money,  tendered  him  by  the  Laird  of  Dumbie- 
dikes, who  was  of  opinion  that  "siller  wad  mak  a'  easy.'' 
But  this  last  incident  wants  confirmation. 

Admitted  within  the  precincts  of  the  Court-house,  they 
found  the  usual  number  of  busy  office-bearers,  and  idle 
loiterers,  who  attend  on  these  scenes  by  choice,  or  from 
duty.  Burghers  gaped  and  stared;  young  lawj^ers  saun- 
tered, sneered,  and  laughed,  as  in  the  pit  of  the  theatre; 
while  others  apart  sat  on  a  bench  retired,  and  reasoned 
highly,  inte?'  apices  juris,  on  the  doctrines  of  construc- 
tive crime,  and  the  true  import  of  the  statute.  The  bench 
was  prepared  for  the  arrival  of  the  judges:  the  jurors 
were  in  attendance.  The  crown  counsel,  employed  in 
looking  over  their  briefs  and  notes  of  evidence,  looked 
grave,  and  whispered  with  each  other.  They  occupied 
one  side  of  a  large  table  placed  beneath  the  bench;  on 
the  other  sat  the  advocates,  whom  the  humanity  of  the 
Scottish  law  (in  this  particular  more  liberal  than  that 
of  the  sister  country)  not  only  permits,  but  enjoins,  to  t^ 
appear  and  assist  with  their  advice  and  skill  all  persona 
under  trial.  Mr.  Nichil  Novit  was  seen  actively  instruct- 
ing the  counsel  for  the  panel  (so  the  prisoner  is  called 
in  Scottish  law-phraseology),  busy,  bustling,  and  impop- 
tant.  When  they  entered  the  Court-room,  Deans  asked 
the  Laird,  in  a  tremulous  whisper,  "Whore  will  she  sit?" 

Dumbied'ikes  whispered  Novit,  who  pointed  to  a  vacant 
space  at  the  bar,  fronting  the  judges,  and  was  about  to 
conduct  Deans  toward  it. 

"No!"  he  said;  'T  cannot  sit  by  her — I  cannot  own 
her — not  as  yet,  at  least — I  will  keep  out  of  her  sight, 
and  turn  mine  own  eyes  elsewhere — better  for  us  baith." 


260  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

Saddletree,  whose  repeated  interference  with  the  coun- 
sel had  procured  him  one  or  two  rebuiits,  and  a  special 
request  that  he  would  concern  himself  with  his  own  mat- 
ters, now  saw  with  pleasure  an  opportunity  of  playing 
the  person  of  importance.  He  bustled  up  to  the  poor 
old  man,  and  proceeded  to  exhibit  his  consequence,  by 
securing,  through  his  interest  with  the  bar-keepers  and 
macers,  a  seat  for  Deans,  in  a  situation  where  he  was 
hidden  from  the  general  eye  by  the  projecting  corner  of 
the  bench. 

''It's  gude  to  have  a  friend  at  court,"  he  said,  con- 
tinuing his  heartless  harangues  to  the  passive  auditor, 
who  neither  heard  nor  replied  to  them;  "few  folk  but 
mysell  could  hae  sorted  ye  out  a  seat  like  this — the  Lords 
wiU  be  here  incontinent,  and  proceed  instanter  to  trial. 
Tkey  wunna  fence  the  court  as  they  do  at  the  circuit — 
The  High  Court  of  Justiciary  is  aye  fenced.  But,  Lord's 
sake,  what's  this  o't? — Jeanie,  ye  are  a  cited  witness — 
Macer,  this  lass  is  a  witness — she  maun  be  enclosed — she 
maun  on  nae  account  be  at  large. — Mr.  Novit,  suldna 
Jeanie  Deans  be  enclosed?" 

Novit  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  offered  to  con- 
duct Jeanie  to  the  apartment,  where,  according  to  the 
scrupulous  practice  of  the  Scottish  Court,  the  witnesses 
remain  in  readiness  to  be  called  into  court  to  give  evi- 
dence; and  separated,  at  the  same  time,  from  all  who 
might  influence  their  testimony,  or  give  them  informa- 
tion concerning  that  which  was  passing  upon  the  trial. 

"Is  this  necessary?"  said  Jeanie,  still  reluctant  to  quit 
her  father's  hand. 

"A  matter  of  absolute  needcessity,"  said  Saddletree; 
"wha  ever  heard  of  witnesses  no  being  enclosed?" 

•  "It  is  really  a  matter  of  necessity,"  said  the  younger 
counsellor,  retained  for  her  siste-r,  and  Jeanie  reluc- 
tantly followed  the  macer  of  the  court  to  the  place  ap- 
pointed. 

"This,  Mr.  Deans,"  said  Saddletree,  "is  ca'd  sequester- 
ing a  witness;  but  it's  clean  different  (whilk  maybe  ye 
wadna  fund  out  o'  yoursell)  frae  sequestering  ane's  es- 
tate or  effects,  as  in  cases  of  bankruptcy.  I  hae  aften 
been  sequestered  as  a  witness,  for  the  Sheriff  is  in  the 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTIIIAN  261 

use  whiles  to  crj'  me  in  to  witness  the  declarations  at 
precognitions,  and  so  is  Mr.  Sharpitlaw;  but  I  was  ne'er 
like  to  be  sequestered  o'  land  and  gudes  but  ance,  and 
that  was  lang  syne,  afore  I  was  married.  But  whisht, 
whisht!  here's  the  Court  coming." 

As  he  spoke,  the  five  Lords  of  Justiciary,  in  their  long 
robes  of  scarlet,  faced  with  white,  and  preceded  by  their 
mace-bearer,  entered  with  the  usual  formalities,  and  took 
their  places  upon  the  bench  of  judgment. 

The  audience  rose  to  receive  them;  and  the  bustle  oc- 
casioned by  their  entrance  was  hardly  composed,  when 
a  great  noise  and  confusion  of  persons  struggling,  and 
forcibly  endeavoring  to  enter  at  the  doors  of  the  Court- 
room and  of  the  galleries,  announced  that  the  prisoner 
was  about  to  be  placed  at  the  bar.  This  tumult  takes 
place  when  the  doors,  at  first  only  opened  to  those  either 
having  right  to  be  present,  or  to  the  better  and  more 
qualified  ranks,  are  at  length  laid  open  to  all  whose  curi- 
osity induces  them  to  be  present  on  the  occasion.  With 
inflamed  countenances  and  dishevelled  dresses,  struggling 
with,  and  sometimes  tumbling  over  each  other,  in  rushed 
the  rude  multitude,  while  a  few  soldiers,  forming,  as  it 
were,  the  centre  of  the  tide,  could  scarce,  with  all  their 
elTorts,  clear  a  passage  for  the  prisoner  to  the  place  which 
she  was  to  occupy.  By  the  authority  of  the  Court,  and 
the  exertions  of  its  officers,  the  tumult  among  the  spec- 
tators was  at  length  appeased,  and  the  unhappy  girl 
brought  forward,  and  placed  betwixt  two  sentinels  with 
drawn  bayonets,  as  a  prisoner  at  the  bar,  where  she  was 
to  abide  her  deliverance  for  good  or  evil,  according  to 
the  issue  of  her  trial. 


f^ 


262  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTEE   XXII 

We  have  strict  statutes,   and  most  biting  laws — 
The  needful  bits,  and  curbs  for  headstrong  steeds — 
Which,   for  these  fourteen  years,  we  have  let  sleep, 
Like  to  an  o'ergrown  lion  in  a  cave. 
That  goes  not  out  to  prey. 

Measure  for  Measure. 

"EuPHEMiA  Deans,"  said  the  presiding  Judge,  in  an  ac- 
cent which  pity  was  blended  with  dignity,  "stand  up, 
and  listen  to  the  criminal  indictment  now  to  be  preferred 
against  you." 

The  unhappy  girl,  who  had  been  stupefied  by  the  con- 
fusion throug^i  which  the  guards  had  forced  a  passage, 
cast  a  bewildered  look  on  the  multitude  of  faces  around 
her,  which  seemed  to  tapestry,  as  it  were,  the  walls,  in 
one  broad  slope  from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor,  with  human 
countenances,  and  instinctively  obeyed  a  command,  which 
rung  in  her  ears  like  the  trumpet  of  the  judgment- d«ay. 

'Tut  back  your  hair,  Effie,"  said  one  of  the  macers. 
For  her  beautiful  and  abundant  tresses  of  long  fair  hair, 
which,  according  to  the  custom  of  .the  country,  unmar- 
ried women  were  not  allowed  to  cover  with  any  sort  of 
cap,  and  which,  alas !  Effie  dared  no  longer  'confine  with 
the  snood  or  ribband,  which  implied  purity  of  maiden- 
fame,  now  hung  unbound  and  dishevelled  over  her  face, 
and  almost  concealed  her  features.  On  receiving  this 
hint  from  the  attendant,  the  unfortunate  young  woman, 
with  a  hasty,  trembling,  and  apparently  mechanical  com- 
pliance, shaded  back  from  her  face  her  luxuriant  locks, 
and  showed  to  the  whole  court,  excepting  one  individual, 
a  countenance,  which,  though  pale  and  emaciated,  was 
so  lovely  amid  its  agony,  that  it  called  forth  an  universal 
murmur  of  compassion  and  sympathy.  Apparently  the 
expressive  sound  of  human  feeling  recalled  the  poor  girl 
from  the  stupor  of  fear,  which  predominated  at  first  over 
every  other  sensation,  and  awakened  her  to  the  no  less 
painful  sense  of  shame  and  exposure  attached  to  her 
present  situation.  Her  eye,  which  had  at  first  glanced 
wildly  around,  was  turned  on  the  ground;  her  cheek,  at 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  263 

first  so  deadly  pale,  began  gradually  to  be  overspread 
with  a  faint  blush,  which  increased  so  fast,  that,  when 
in  agony  of  shame  she  strove  to  conceal  her  face,  her 
temples,  her  brow,  her  neck,  and  all  that  her  slender 
fingers  and  small  palms  could  not  cover,  became  of  the 
deepest  crimson. 

All  marked  and  were  moved  by  these  changes,  excepting 
one.  It  was  old  Deans,  who,  motionless  in  his  seat,  and 
concealed,  as  we  have  said,  by  the  corner  of  the  bench, 
from  seeing  or  being  seen,  did  nevertheless  keep  his  eyes 
firmly  fixed  on  the  ground,  as  if  determined  that,  by  no 
possibility  whatever,  would  he  be  an  ocular  witness  of  the 
shame  of  his  house. 

'Tchabod!''  he  said  to  himself — "IchabodI  my  glory  is 
departed !" 

While  these  reflections  w^ere  passing  through  his  mind, 
the  indictment,  which  set  forth  in  technical  form  the 
crime  of  which  the  panel  stood  accused,  was  read  as  usual, 
and  the  prisoner  was  asked  if  she  was  Guilty,  or  Not 
Guilty. 

''Not  guilty  of  my  poor  bairn's  death,"  said  Effie  Deans, 
in  an  accent  corresponding  in  plaintive  softness  of  tone 
to  the  beauty  of  her  features,  and  which  was  not  heard 
by   the   audience   without   emotion. 

The  presiding  Judge  next  directed  the  counsel  to  plead 
to  the  relevancy;  that  is,  to  state  on  either  part  the  argu- 
ments in  point  of  law,  and  evidence  in  point  of  fact, 
against  and  in  favor  of  the  criminal;  after  which  it  is 
the  form  of  the  Court  to  pronounce  a  preliminary  judg- 
ment, sending  the  cause  to  the  cognizance  of  the  jury 
or  assize. 

The  counsel  for  the  crown  briefly  stated  the  frequency 
of  the  crime  of  infanticide,  which  had  given  rise  to  the 
special  statute  under  which  the  panel  stood  indicted.  He 
mentioned  the  various  instances,  many  of  them  marked 
with  circumstances  of  atrocity,  which  had  at  length  in- 
duced the  King's  Advocate,  though  with  great  reluctance, 
to  make  the  experiment,  whether  by  strictly  enforcing 
the  Act  of  Parliament  which  had  been  made  to  prevent 
such  enormities,  their  occurrence  might  be  prevented. 
"He  expected,"  he  said,  "to  be  able  to  establish  by  wit- 


264  THE   HEART    OE   MID-LOTHIAN 

nesses,  as  well  as  by  the  declaration  of  the  panel  herself, 
that  she  was  in  the  state  described  by  the  statute.  Ac- 
cording to  his  information,  the  panel  had  communicated 
her  pregnancy  to  no  one,  nor  did  she  allege  in  her  own 
declaration  that  she  had  done  so.  This  secrecy  was  the 
first  requisite  in  support  of  the  indictment.  The  same 
declaration  admitted,  that  she  had  borne  a  male  child,  in 
circumstances  which  gave  but  too  much  reason  to  believe 
it  had  died  by  the  hands-,  or  at  least  with  the  knowl- 
edge or  consent,  of  the  unhappy  mother.  It  was  not, 
however,  necessary  for  him  to  bring  positive  proof  that 
the  panel  was  accessory  to  the  murder,  nay,  nor  even 
to  prove  that  the  child  was  murdered  at  all.  It  was 
sufficient  to  support  the  indictment,  that  it  could  not  be 
found.  According  to  the  stern  but  necessary  severity 
of  this  statute,  she  who  should  conceal  her  pregnancy, 
who  should  omit  to  call  that  assistance  which  is  most 
necessary  on  such  occasions,  was  held  already  to  have 
meditated  the  death  of  her  offspring,  as  an  event  most 
likely  to  be  the  consequence  of  her  culpable  and  cruel 
concealment.  And  if,  under  such  circumstances,  she 
could  not  alternatively  show  by  proof  that  the  infant  had 
died  a  natural  death,  or  produce  it  still  in  life,  she  must, 
under  the  construction  of  the  law,  be  held  to  have  mur- 
dered it,  and  suffer  death  accordingly." 

The  counsel  for  the  prisoner,  Mr.  Fairbrother,  a  man 
of  considerable  fame  in  his  profession,  did  not  pretend 
directly  to  combat  the  arguments  of  the  King's  Advocate. 
He  began  by  lamenting  that  his  senior  at  the  bar,  Mr. 
Langtale,  had  been  suddenly  called  to  the  county  of 
which  he  was  Sheriff,  and  that  he  had  been  applied  to, 
on  short  warning,  to  give  the  panel  his  assistance  in  this 
interesting  case.  He  had  had  little  time,  he  said,  to  make 
up  for  his  inferiority  to  his  learned  brother  by  long  and 
minute  research ;  and  he  was  afraid  he  might  give  a  speci- 
men of  his  incapacity,  by  being  compelled  to  admit  the 
accuracy  of  the  indictment  under  the  statute.  ''It  was 
enough  for  their  Lordships,"  he  observed,  "to  know,  that 
such  was  the  law,  and  he  admitted  the  Advocate  had  a 
right  to  call  for  the  usual  interlocutor  of  relevancy."  But 
he  stated,   "that  when  he  came  to  establish  his  case  by 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  265 

proof,  he  trusted  to  make  out  circumstances  which  would 
satisfactorily  elide  the  charge  in  the  libel.  His  client's 
story  was  a  short,  but  most  melancholy  one.  She  was 
bred  up  in  the  strictest  tenets  of  religion  and  virtue,  the 
daughter  of  a  worthy  and  conscientious  person,  who,  in 
evil  times,  had  established  a  character  for  courage  and 
religion,  by  becoming  a  sufferer  for  conscience'  sake. 

David  Deans  gave  a  co-nvulsive  start  at  hearing  himself 
thus  mentioned,  and  then  resumed  the  situation,  in  which, 
with  his  face  stooped  against  his  hands,  and  both  resting 
against  the  corner  of  the  elevated  bench  on  which  the 
Judges  sate,  he  had  hitherto  listened  to  the  procedure 
in  the  trial.  The  Whig  lawyers  seemed  to  be  interested; 
the  Tories  put  up  their  lip. 

"Whatever  may  be  our  difference  of  opinion,"  resumed 
the  lawyer,  whose  business  it  was  to  carry  his  whole  au- 
dience with  him  if  possible,  "concerning  the  peculiar  ten- 
ets of  these  people"  (here  Deans  groaned  deeply),  "it  is 
impossible  to  deny  them  the  praise  of  sound,  and  even 
rigid,  morals,  or  the  merit  of  training  up  their  children 
in  the  fear  of  God;  and  yet  it  was  the  daughter  of  such 
a  person  whom  a  jury  would  shortly  be  called  upon,  in 
the  absence  of  evidence,  and  upon  mere  presumptions,  to 
convict  of  a  crime,  more  properly  belonging  to  a  heathen, 
or  a  savage,  than  to  a  Christian  and  civilized  country. 
It  was  true,"  he  admitted,  "that  the  excellent  nurture  and 
early  instruction  which  the  poor  girl  had  received,  had 
not  been  sufficient  to  preserve  her  from  guilt  and  error. 
She  had  fallen  a  sacrifice  to  an  inconsiderate  affection 
for  a  young  man  of  prepossessing  manners,  as  he  had 
been  informed,  but  of  a  very  dangerous  and  desperate 
character.  She  was  seduced  under  promise  of  marriage 
— a  promise  which  the  fellow  might  have,  perhaps,  done 
her  justice  by  keeping,  had  he  not  at  that  time  been 
called  upon  by  the  law  to  atone  for  a  crime,  violent  and 
desperate  in  itself,  but  which  became  the  preface  to  an- 
other eventful  history,  every  step  of  which  was  marked 
by  blood  and  guilt,  and  the  final  termination  of  which 
had  not  even  yet  arrived.  He  believed  that  no  one  would 
hear  him  without  surprise,  when  he  stated  that  the  father 
of   this   infant   now   amissing,   and   said   by   the   learned 


266  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

Advocate  to  have  been  murdered,  was  no  other  than  the 
notorious  George  Robertson,  the  accomplice  of  Wilson, 
the  hero  of  the  memorable  escape  from  the  Tolbooth 
Church,  and,  as  no  one  knew  better  than  his  learned 
friend  the  Advocate,  the  principal  actor  in  the  Porteous 
conspiracy." 

"I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  a  counsel  in  such  a  case  as 
the  present,"  said  the  presiding:  Judge;  "but  I  must  re- 
mind the  learned  gentleman,  that  he  is  travelling  out  of 
the  case  before  us." 

The  counsel  bowed,  and  resumed.  "He  only  judged  it 
necessary,"  he  said,  "to  mention  the  name  and  situation 
of  Robertson,  because  the  circumstance  in  which  that 
character  was  placed  went  a  great  way  in  accounting  for 
the  silence  on  which  his  Majesty's  counsel  had  laid  so 
much  weight,  as  affording  proof  that  his  client  proposed 
to  allow  no  fair  play  for  its  life,  to  the  helpless  being 
whom  she  was  about  to  bring  into  the  world.  She  had 
not  announced  to  her  friends  that  she  had  been  seduced 
from  the  path  of  honor — and  why  had  she  not  done  so  ? — 
Because  she  expected  daily  to  be  restored  to  character, 
by  her  seducer  doing  her  that  justice  which  she  knew  to 
be  in  his  power,  and  believed  to  be  in  his  inclination. 
Was  it  natural — was  it  reasonable — was  it  fair,  to  expect 
that  she  should,  in  the  interim,  become  felo  de  se  of  her 
own  character,  and  proclaim  her  frailty  to  the  world,  when 
she  had  every  reason  to  expect,  that,  by  concealing  it  for 
a  season,  it  might  be  veiled  for  ever  ?  Was  it  not,  on  the 
contrary,  pardonable,  that,  in  such  an  emergency,  a  young 
woman,  in  such  a  situation,  should  be  found  far  from 
disposed  to  make  a  confidant  of  every  prying  gossip,  who, 
with  sharp  eyes,  and  eager  ears,  pressed  upon  her  for  an 
explanation  of  suspicious  circumstances,  which  females 
in  the  lower — he  might  say  which  females  of  all  ranks 
are  so  alert  in  noticing,  that  they  sometimes  discover 
them  where  they  do  not  exist?  Was  it  strange,  or  was 
it  criminal,  that  she  should  have  repelled  their  inquisitive 
impertinence,  with  petulant  denials?  The  sense  and 
feeling  of  all  who  heard  him  would  answer  directly  in 
the  negative.  But  although  his  client  had  thus  remained 
silent  toward  those  to  whom  she  was  not  called  upon  to 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAX  267 

oommunicato  her  situation, — to  \vhom,"  said  ih^  Icaniofl 
gentleman,  'T  will  add,  it  would  have  unadvised  and  im- 
proper in  her  to  have  done  so ;  yet,  I  trust,  I  shall  remove 
this  case  most  triumphantly  from  under  the  statute,  and 
obtain  the  unfortunate  young  woman  an  honorable  dis- 
mission from  your  Lordships'  bar,  by  showing  that  she 
did,  in  due  time  and  place,  and  to  a  person  most  fit  for 
such  confidence,  mention  the  calamitous  circumstances  in 
which  she  found  herself.  This  occurred  after  Robertson's 
conviction,  and  when  he  was  lying  in  prison  in  expecta- 
tion of  the  fate  which  his  comrade  Wilson  afterward  suf- 
fered, and  from  which  he  himself  so  strangely  escaped. 
It  was  then,  when  all  hopes  of  having  her  honor  repaired 
by  wedlock  vanished  from  her  eyes, — when  a  union  with 
one  in  Robertson's  situation,  if  still  practicable,  might, 
perhaps,  have  been  regarded  rather  as  an  addition  to  her 
disgrace, — it  was  then,  that  I  trust  to  be  able  to  prove 
that  the  prisoner  communicated  and  consulted  with  her 
sister,  a  young  woman  several  years  older  than  herself, 
the  daughter  of  her  father,  if  I  mistake  not,  by  a  former 
marriage,  upon  the  perils  and  distress  of  her  unhappy 
situation." 

"If,  indeed,  you  are  able  to  instruct  that  point,  Mr. 
Fairbrother "  said  the  presiding  Judge. 

"If  I  am  indeed  able  to  instruct  that  point,  my  Lord," 
resumed  Mr.  Fairbrother,  "I  trust  not  only  to  serve  my 
client,  but  to  relieve  your  Lordships  from  that  which  I 
know  you  feel  the  most  painful  duty  of  your  high  office; 
and  to  give  all  who  now  hear  me  the  exquisite  pleasure 
of  beholding  a  creature  so  young,  so  ingenuous,  and  so 
beautiful,  as  she  that  is  now  at  the  bar  of  your  Lord- 
ships' Court,  dismissed  from  thence  in  safety  and  in 
honor." 

This  address  seemed  to  affect  many  of  the  audience,  and 
was  followed  by  a  slight  murmur  of  applause.  Deans,  as 
he  heard  his  daughters  beauty  and  innocence  appealed  to, 
was  involuntarily  about  to  turn  his  eyes  toward  her;  but, 
recollecting  himself,  he  bent  them  again  on  the  ground 
with  stubborn  resolution. 

"Will  not  my  learned  brother,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
bar,"  continued  the  advocate,  after  a  short  pause,  "share 


268  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

in  this  general  joy,  since  I  know,  while  he  discharges  his 
duty  in  bringing  an  accused  person  here,  no  one  rejoices 
more  in  their  being  freely  and  honorably  sent  hence? 
My  learned  brother  shakes  his  head  doubtfully,  and  lays 
"his  hand  on  the  panel's  declaration.  I  understand  him 
perfectly — he  would  insinuate  that  the  facts  now  stated 
to  your  Lordships  are  inconsistent  with  the  confession  of 
Euphemia  Deans  herself.  I  need  not  remind  your  Lord- 
ships, that  her  present  defence  is  no  whit  to  be  narrowed 
within  the  bounds  of  her  former  confession;  and  that  it 
is  not  by  any  account  which  she  may  formerly  have 
given  of  herself,  but  by  what  is  now  to  be  proved  for  or 
against  her,  that  she  must  ultimately  stand  or  fall.  I 
am  not  under  the  necessity  of  accounting  for  her  choos- 
ing to  drop  out  of  her  declaration  the  circumstances  of 
her  confession  to  her  sister.  She  might  not  be  aware  of 
its  importance,  she  might  be  afraid  of  implicating  her 
sister;  she  might  even  have  forgotten  the  circumstance 
entirely,  in  the  terror  and  distress  of  mind  incidental  to 
the  arrest  of  so  young  a  creature  on  a  charge  so  heinous. 
Any  of  these  reasons  are  sufficient  to  account  for  her  hav- 
ing suppressed  the  truth  in  this  instance,  at  whatever  risk 
to  herseli;  and  I  incline  most  to  her  erroneous  fear  of 
criminating  her  sister,  because  I  observe  she  has  had  a 
similar  tenderness  toward  her  lover  (however  undeserved 
on  his  part),  and  has  never  once  mentioned  Robertson's 
name  from  beginning  to  end  of  her  declaration. 

"But,  my  Lords,"  continued  Fairbrother,  "I  am  aware 
the  King's  Advocate  will  expect  me  to  show,  that  the 
proof  I  offer  is  consistent  with  other  circumstances  of 
the  case,  which  I  do  not  and  cannot  deny.  He  will  de- 
mand of  me  how  Effie  Deans's  confession  to  her  sister, 
previous  to  her  delivery,  is  reconcilable  with  the  mystery 
of  the  birth,  with  the  disappearance,  perhaps  the  murder 
(for  I  will  not  deny  a  possibility  which  I  cannot  disprove) 
of  the  infant.  My  Lords,  the  explanation  of  this  is  to 
be  found  in  the  placability,  perchance,  I  may  say,  in 
the  facility  and  pliability,  of  .the  female  sex.  The  dulcis 
Amaryllidis  irce,  as  your  Lordships  well  know,  are  easily 
appeased;  nor  is  it  possible  to  conceive  a  woman  so  atro- 
ciously offended  by  the  man  whom  she  has  loved,   but 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  269 

what  she  will  retain  a  fund  of  forfcivcness,  upon  which 
his  penitence,  whether  real  or  affected,  may  draw  largely, 
with  a  certainty  that  his  bills  will  be  answered.  We  can 
prove,  by  a  letter  produced  in  evidence,  that  this  villain 
Robertson,  from  the  bottom  of  the  dungeon  whence  he 
already  probably  meditated  the  escape,  which  he  after- 
ward accomplished  by  the  assistance  of  his  comrade,  con- 
trived to  exercise  authority  over  the  mind,  and  to  direct 
the  motions,  of  this  unhappy  girl.  It  was  in  compliance 
with  his  injunctions,  expressed  in  that  letter,  that  the 
panel  was  prevailed  upon  to  alter  the  line  of  conduct 
which  her  own  better  thoughts  had  suggested;  and,  in- 
stead of  resorting,  when  her  time  of  travail  approached, 
to  the  protection  of  her  own  family,  was  induced  to  con- 
fide herself  to  the  charge  of  some  vile  agent  of  this  ne- 
farious seducer,  and  by  her  conducted  to  one  of  those 
solitary  and  secret  purlieus  of  villainy,  which,  to  the 
shame  of  our  police,  still  are  suffered  to  exist  in  the 
suburbs  of  this  city,  where,  with  the  assistance,  and  under 
the  charge,  of  a  person  of  her  own  sex,  she  bore  a  male- 
child,  under  circumstances  which  added  treble  bitterness 
to  the  woe  denounced  against  our  original  mother.  What 
purpose  Robertson  had  in  all  this,  it  is  hard  to  tell  or 
even  to  guess.  He  may  have  meant  to  marry  the  girl, 
for  her  father  is  a  man  of  substance.  But,  for  the  ter- 
mination of  the  story,  and  the  conduct  of  the  woman 
whom  he  had  placed  about  the  person  of  Euphemia  Deans, 
it  is  still  more  difficult  to  account.  The  unfortunate 
young  woman  was  visited  by  the  fever  incidental  to  her 
situation.  In  this  fever  she  appears  to  have  been  de- 
ceived by  the  person  that  waited  on  her,  and,  on  recover- 
ing her  senses,  she  found  that  she  was  childless  in  that 
abode  of  misery.  Her  infant  had  been  carried  off',  perhaps 
for  the  worst  purposes,  by  the  wretch  that  waited  on  her. 
It  may  have  been  murdered  for  what  I  can  tell." 

He  was  here  interrupted  by  a  piercing  shriek,  uttered 
by  the  unfortunate  prisoner.  She  was  with  difficulty 
brought  to  compose  herself.  Her  counsel  availed  himself 
of  the  tragical  interruption,  to  close  his  pleading  with 
effect. 

"My  Lords,"  said  he,  "in  that  piteous  cry  you  heard  the 


270  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

eloquence  of  maternal  affection,  far  surpassing  the  force 
of  my  poor  words — Rachel  weeping  for  her  children! 
Nature  herself  bears  testimony  in  favor  of  the  tenderness 
and  acuteness  of  the  prisoner's  parental  feelings.  I  will 
not  dishonor  her  plea  by  adding  a  word  more." 

"Heard  ye  ever  the  like  o'  that,  Laird?"  said  Saddletree 
to  Dumbiedikes,  when  the  Counsel  had  ended  his  speech. 
"There's  a  chield  can  spin  a  muckle  pirn  out  of  a  wee  tait 
of  tow!  Deil  haet  he  kens  mair  about  it  than  what's  in 
the  declaration,  and  a  surmise  that  Jeanie  Deans  suld  hae 
been  able  to  say  something  about  her  sister's  situation, 
whilk  surmise,  Mr.  Crossmyloof  says,  rests  on  sma'  au- 
thority. And  he's  cleckit  this  great  muckle  bird  out  o' 
this  wee  eggl  He  could  wile  the  very  flounders  out  o' 
the  Firth. — What  garr'd  my  father  no  send  me  to  Utrecht  ? 
— But  whisht,  the  Court  is  gaun  to  pronounce  the  inter- 
locutor of  relevancy." 

And  accordingly  the  Judges,  after  a  few  words,  re- 
corded their  judgment,  which  bore,  that  the  indictment, 
if  proved,  was  relevant  to  infer  the  pains  of  law:  And 
that  the  defence,  that  the  panel  had  communicated  her 
situation  to  her  sister,  was  a  relevant  defence :  And,  final- 
ly, appointed  the  said  indictment  and  defence  to  be  sub- 
mitted to  the  judgment  of  an  assize. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

Most    righteous   judge!    a    sentence. — Come,    prepare. 

Merchant   of   Venice. 

It  is  by  no  means  my  intention  to  describe  minutely  the 
forms  of  a  Scottish  criminal  trial,  nor  am  I  sure  that  I 
could  draw  up  an  account  so  intelligible  and  accurate  as 
to  abide  the  criticism  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  long  robe. 
It  is.  enough  to  say  that  the  jury  was  impanelled,  and  the 
case  proceeded.  The  prisoner  was  again  required  to  plead 
to  the  charge,  and  she  again  replied,  "Not  Guilty,"  in  the 
same  heart-thrilling  tone  as  before. 

The  crown  counsel  then  called  two  or  three  female  wit- 
nesses, by  whose  testimony  it  was  established,  that  Effie's 


THE    liEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  271 

sitiKition  had  been  remarked  by  them,  tliat  they  had  taxed 
her  with  the  faet,  and  that  her  answers  had  amounted  to 
an  angry  and  petulant  denial  of  what  they  charged  her 
with.  But,  as  very  frequently  happens,  the  declaration 
of  the  panel  or  accused  party  herself  was  the  evidence 
which  bore  hardest  upon  her  case. 

In  the  event  of  these  Tales  ever  finding  their  way  across 
the  Border,  it  may  be  proper  to  apprise  the  southern 
reader  that  it  is  the  practice  in  Scotland,  on  apprehend- 
ing a  suspected  person,  to  subject  him  to  a  judicial  ex- 
amination before  a  magistrate.  He  is  not  compelled  to 
answer  any  of  the  questions  asked  of  him,  but  may  re- 
main silent  if  he  sees  it  his  interest  to  do  so.  But  what- 
ever answers  he  chooses  to  give  are  formally  written  dow^n, 
and  being  subscribed  by  himself  and  the  magistrate,  are 
produced  against  the  accused  in  case  of  his  being  brought 
to  trial.  It  is  true,  that  these  declarations  are  not  pro- 
duced as  being  in  themselves  evidence  properly  so  called, 
but  only  as  adminicles  of  testimony,  tending  to  corrobo- 
rate what  is  considered  as  legal  and  proper  evidence. 
Notwithstanding  this  nice  distinction,  however,  introduced 
by  lawj'ers  to  reconcile  this  procedure  to  their  own  gen- 
eral rule,  that  a  man  cannot  be  required  to  bear  witness 
against  himself,  it  nevertheless  usually  happens  that  these 
declarations  become  the  means  of  condemning  the  accused, 
as  it  were,  out  of  their  own  mouths.  The  prisoner,  upon 
these  previous  examinations,  has  indeed  the  privilege  of 
remaining  silent  if  he  pleases;  but  every  man  necessarily 
feels  that  a  refusal  to  answer  natural  and  pertinent  in- 
terrogatories, put  by  judicial  authority,  is  in  itself  a 
strong  proof  of  guilt,  and  wmU  certainly  lead  to  his  being 
committed  to  prison;  and  few  can  renounce  the  hope  of 
obtaining  liberty,  by  giving  some  specious  account  of 
themselves,  and  showing  apparent  frankness  in  explain- 
ing their  motives  and  accounting  for  their  conduct.  It, 
therefore,  seldom  happens  that  the  prisoner  refuses  to 
give  a  judicial  declaration,  in  which,  nevertheless,  either 
by  letting  out  too  much  of  the  truth,  or  by  endeavoring 
to  substitute  a  fictitious  story,  he  almost  always  exposes 
himself  to  suspicion  and  to  contradictions,  which  weigh 
heavily  in  the  minds  of  the  jury. 


272  THE   HEART    OE   MID-LOTHIAN 

The  declaration  of  Effie  Deans  was  uttered  on  other 
principles,  and  the  following  is  a  sketch  of  its  contents, 
given  in  the  judicial  form,  in  which  .they  may  still  be 
found  in  the  Books  of  Adjournal. 

The  declarant  admitted  a  criminal  intrigue  with  an 
individual  whose  name  she  desired  to  conceal.  "Being 
interrogated,  what  her  reason  was  for  secrecy  on  this 
point?  She  declared,  that  she  had  no  right  to  blame  that 
person's  conduct  more  than  she  did  her  own,  and  that 
she  was  willing  to  confess  her  own  faults,  but  not  to 
say  anything  which  might  criminate  the  absent.  Inter- 
rogated, if  she  confessed  her  situation  to  any  one,  or 
made  any  preparation  for  her  confinement  ?  Declares,  she 
did  not.  And  being  interrogated,  why  she  forbore  to  take 
steps  which  her  situation  so  peremptorily  required?  De- 
clares, she  was  ashamed  to  tell  her  friends,  and  she 
trusted  the  person  she  has  mentioned  would  provide  for 
her  and  the  infant.  Interrogated,  if  he  did  so  ?  Declares, 
that  he  did  not  do  so  personally;  but  that  it  was  not  his 
fault,  for  that  the  declarant  is  convinced  he  would  have 
laid  down  his  life  sooner  than  the  bairn  or  she  had  come 
to  harm.  Interrogated,  what  prevented  him  from  keeping 
his  promise?  Declares,  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
do  so,  he  being  under  trouble  at  the  time,  and  declines 
farther  answer  to  this  question.-  Interrogated,  where  she 
was  from  the  period  she  left  her  master,  Mr.  Saddletree's 
family,  until  her  appearance  at  her  father's  at  St.  Leon- 
ard's, the  day  before  she  was  apprehended?  Declares,  she 
does  not  remember.  And,  on  the  interrogatory  being  re- 
peated, declares,  she  does  not  mind  muckle  about  it,  for 
she  was  very  ill.  On  the  question  being  again  repeated, 
she  declares,  she  will  tell  the  truth,  if  it  should  be  the 
undoing  of  her,  so  long  as  she  is  not  asked  to  tell  on 
other  folk;  and  admits,  that  she  passed  that  interval  of 
time  in  the  lodging  of  a  woman,  an  acquaintance  of  that 
person  who  had  wished  her  to  that  i)lace  to  be  delivered, 
and  that  she  was  there  delivered  accordingly  of  a  male 
child.  Interrogated,  what  was  the  name  of  that  person? 
Declares  and  refuses  to  answer  this  question.  Interro- 
gated, where  she  lives?  Declares,  she  has  no  certainty, 
for  that  she  was  taken  to  the  lodging   aforesaid  under 


THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTIIIAN  273 

cloud  of  nipht.  Interrogated,  if  the  lodging  was  in  the 
city  or  suburbs?  Declares  and  refuses  to  answer  that 
question.  Interrogated,  whether,  when  she  left  the  house 
of  Mr.  Saddletree,  she  went  up  or  down  the  street?  De- 
clares and  refuses  to  answer  the  question.  Interrogated, 
whether  she  had  ever  seen  the  woman  before  she  was 
wished  to  her,  as  she  termed  it,  by  the  person  whose  name 
she  refuses  to  answer  i'  Declares  and  replies,  not  to  her 
knowledge.  Interrogated,  whether  this  woman  was  intro- 
duced to  her  by  the  said  person  verbally,  or  by  word  of 
mouth?  Declares,  she  has  no  freedom  to  answer  this 
question.  Interrogated,  if  the  child  was  alive  when  it 
was  born?  Declares,  that — God  help  her  and  it! — it  cer- 
tainly was  alive.  Interrogated,  if  it  died  a  natural  death 
after  birth  ?  Declares,  not  to  her  knowledge.  Interro- 
gated, w^here  it  now  is?  Declares,  she  would  give  her 
right  hand  to  ken,  but  that  she  never  hopes  to  see  mair 
than  the  banes  of  it.  And  being  interrogated,  why  she 
supposes  it  is  now  dead?  the  declarant  wept  bitterly,  and 
made  no  answer.  Interrogated,  if  the  woman,  in  whose 
lodging  she  was,  seemed  to  be  a  fit  person  to  be  w'ith  her 
in  that  situation?  Declares,  she  might  be  fit  enough  for 
skill,  but  that  she  was  a  hard-hearted  bad  woman.  In- 
terrogated, if  there  was  any  other  person  in  the  lodging 
excepting  themselves  two?  Declares,  that  she  thinks  there 
was  another  woman;  but  her  head  was  so  carried  with 
pain  of  body  and  trouble  of  mind,  that  she  minded  her 
very  little.  Interrogated,  wdien  the  child  was  taken  away 
from  her?  Declared,  that  she  fell  in  a  fever,  and  was 
light-headed,  and  when  she  came  to  her  own  mind,  the 
woman  told  her  the  bairn  was  dead;  and  that  the  declarant 
answered,  if  it  was  dead  it  had  had  foul  play.  That, 
thereupon,  the  woman  was  very  sair  on  her,  and  gave  her 
much  ill-language;  and  that  the  deponent  was  frightened, 
and  crawled  out  of  the  house  when  her  back  was  turned, 
and  went  h^me  to  Saint  Leonard's  Crags,  as  well  as  a 
woman  in  her  condition  dought.  Interrogated,  why  she 
did  not  tell  her  story  to  her  sister  and  father,  and  get 
force  to  search  the  house  for  her  child,  dead  or  alive? 
Declares,  it  was  her  purpose  to  do  so,  but  she  had  not 
time.     Interrogated,  why  she  now  conceals  the  name  of 


274  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

the  woman,  and  the  place  of  her  abode?  The  declarant 
remained  silent  for  a  time,  and  then  said,  that  to  do  so 
could  not  repair  the  skaith  that  was  done,  but  might  be 
the  occasion  of  more.  Interrogated,  whether  she  had  her- 
self, at  any  time,  had  any  purpose  of  putting  away  the 
child  by  violence?  Declares,  never;  so  might  God  be 
merciful  to  her — and  then  again  declares,  never  when  she 
was  in  her  perfect  senses;  but  what  bad  thoughts  the 
Enemy  might  put  into  her  brain  when  she  was  out  of 
herself,  she  cannot  answer.  And  again  solemnly  interro- 
gated, declares,  that  she  would  have  been  drawn  with  wild 
horses,  rather  than  have  touched  the  bairn  with  an  un- 
motherly  hand.  Interrogated,  declares,  that  among  the 
ill-language  the  woman  gave  her,  she  did  say  sure  enough 
that  the  declarant  had  hurt  the  bairn  when  she  was  in 
the  brain-fever;  but  that  the  declarant  does  not  believe 
that  she  said  this  from  any  other  cause  than  to  frighten 
her,  and  make  her  be  silent.  Interrogated,  what  else  the 
woman  said  to  her?  Declares,  that  when  the  declarant 
cried  loud  for  her  bairn,  and  was  like  to  raise  the  neigh- 
bors, the  woman  threatened  her,  that  they  that  could 
stop  the  wean's  skirling  w^ould  stop  hers,  if  she  did  not 
keep  a'  the  lounder.  And  that  this  threat,  with  the  man- 
ner of  the  woman,  made  the  declarant  conclude,  that  the 
bairn's  life  was  gone,  and  her  own  in  danger,  for  that  the 
woman  was  a  desperate  bad  woman,  as  the  declarant 
judged,  from  the  language  she  used.  Interrogated,  de- 
clares, that  the  fever  and  delirium  were  brought  on  her 
by  hearing  bad  news,  suddenly  told  to  her,  but  refuses 
to  say  what  the  said  news  related  to.  Interrogated,  why 
she  does  not  now  communicate  these  particulars,  which 
might,  perhaps,  enable  the  magistrate  to  ascertain  whether 
the  child  is  living  or  dead;  and  requested  to  observe,  that 
her  refusing  to  do  so  exposes  her  own  life,  and  leaves  the 
child  in  bad  hands;  as  also,  that  her  present  refusal  to 
answer  on  such  points  is  inconsistent  with  her  alleged 
intention  to  make  a  clean  breast  to  her  sister?  Declares, 
that  she  kens  the  bairn  is  now  dead,  or,  if  living,  there  is 
one  that  will  look  after  it;  that  for  her  own  living  or 
dying,  she  is  in  God's  hands,  who  knows  her  innocence 
of  harming  her  bairn  with  her  will  or  knowledge;  and 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  275 

that  she  has  altered  her  resolution  of  speaking  out,  which 
she  entertained  when  she  left  the  woman's  lodging-,  on 
account  of  a  matter  which  she  has  since  learned.  And 
declares,  in  general,  that  she  is  wearied,  and  will  answer 
no  more  questions  at  this  time." 

Upon  a  subsequent  examination,  Euphemia  Deans  ad- 
hered to  the  declaration  she  had  formerly  made,  with  this 
addition,  that  a  paper  found  in  her  trunk  being  shown 
to  her,  she  admitted  that  it  contained  the  credentials,  in 
consequence  of  which  she  resigned  herself  to  the  conduct 
of  the  woman  at  whose  lodgings  she  was  delivered  of  th? 
child.     Its  tenor  ran  thus: — 

"Dearest  Effie, — I  have  gotten  the  means  to  send  to 
you  by  a  woman  who  is  well-qualified  to  assist  you  in  your 
approaching  streight;  she  is  not  what  I  could  wish  her, 
but  I  cannot  do  better  for  you  in  my  present  condition. 
I  am  obliged  to  trust  to  her  in  this  present  calamity,  for 
myself  and  you  too.  I  hope  for  the  best,  though  I  am  now 
in  a  sore  pinch;  yet  thought  is  free — I  think  Handie 
Dandie  and  I  may  queer  the  stifler  for  all  that  is  come 
and  gone.  You  will  be  angry  for  me  writing  this,  to  my 
little  Cameronian  Lily;  but  if  I  can  but  live  to  be  a  com- 
fort to  you,  and  a  father  to  your  babie,  you  will  have 
plenty  of  time  to  scold. — Once  more  let  none  know  your 
counsel — my  life  depends  on  this  hag,  d — n  her — she  is 
both  deep  and  dangerous,  but  she  has  more  wiles  and 
wit  than  ever  were  in  a  beldam's  head,  and  has  cause  to 
be  true  to  me.  Farewell,  my  Lily — Do  not  droop  on  my 
account — in  a  week  I  will  be  yours,  or  no  more  my  own." 

Then  followed  a  postscript.  "If  they  must  truss  me,  I 
will  repent  of  nothing  so  much,  even  at  the  last  hard 
pinch,  as  of  the  injury  I  have  done  my  Lily." 

EfRe  refused  to  say  from  whom  she  had  received  this 
letter,  but  enough  of  the  story  was  now  known,  to  ascer- 
tain that  it  came  from  Robertson;  and  from  the  date,  it 
appeared  to  have  been  written  about  the  time  when  An- 
drew Wilson  (called  for  a  nickname  Plandie  Dandie)  and 
he  were  meditating  their  first  abortive  attempt  to  escape. 


276  THE   HEAET    OE   MID-LOTHIAN 

which  miscarried  in  the  manner  mentioned  in  the  begin- 
ning of  this  history. 

The  evidence  of  the  Crown  being  concluded,  the  coun- 
sel for  the  prisoner  began  to  lead  a  proof  in  her  defence. 
The  first  witnesses  were  examined  upon  the  girl's  charac- 
ter. All  gave  her  an  excellent  one,  but  none  with  more 
feeling  than  worthy  Mrs.  Saddletree,  who,  with  the  tears 
on  her  cheeks,  declared  that  she  could  not  have  had  a 
higher  opinion  of  Effie  Deans,  nor  a  more  sincere  regard 
for  her,  if  she  had  been  her  own  daughter.  All  present 
gave  the  honest  woman  credit  for  her  goodness  of  heart, 
excepting  her  husband,  who  whispered  to  Dumbiedikes, 
"That  Nichil  Novit  of  yours  is  but  a  raw  hand  at  lead- 
ing evidence,  I'm  thinking.  What  signified  his  bringing 
a  woman  here  to  snotter  and  snivel,  and  bather  their 
Lordships?  He  should  hae  ceeted  me,  sir,  and  I  should 
hae  gien  him  sic  a  screed  o'  testimony,  they  shouldna  hae 
touched  a  hair  o'  her  head." 

"Hadna  ye  better  get  up  and  try't  yet?"  said  the  Laird. 
"I'll  mak  a  sign  to  Novit." 

"Na,  na,"  said  Saddletree,  "thank  ye  for  naething, 
neighbor — that  would  be  ultroneous  evidence,  and  I  ken 
what  belangs  to  that;  but  Nichil  Novit  suld  hae  had  me 
ceeted  debito  tempore."  And  wiping  his  mouth  with  his 
silk  handkerchief  with  great  importance,  he  resumed  the 
port  and  manner  of  an  edified  and  intelligent  auditor. 

Mr.  Fairbrother  now  premised,  in  a  few  words,  "that 
he  meant  to  bring  forward  his  most  important  witness, 
upon  whose  evidence  the  cause  must  in  a  great  measure 
depend.  What  his  client  was,  they  had  learned  from  the 
preceding  witnesses;  and  so  far  as  general  character, 
given  in  the  most  forcible  terms,  and  even  with  tears, 
could  interest  every  one  in  her  fate,  she  had  already 
gained  that  advantage.  It  was  necessary,  he  admitted, 
that  he  should  produce  more  positive  testimony  of  her 
innocence  than  what  arose  out  of  general  character,  and 
this  he  undertook  to  do  by  the  mouth  of  the  person  to 
whom  she  had  communicated  her  situation — by  the  mouth 
of  her  natural  counsellor  and  guardian — her  sister. — 
Macer,  call  into  court,  Jean,  or  Jeanie  Deans,  daughter 
of  David  Deans,  cow-feeder,  at  Saint  Leonard's  Crags." 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  277 

When  he  uttered  these  words,  the  poor  prisoner  in- 
stantly start^^d  up,  and  stretched  herself  half-way  over 
the  bar,  toward  the  side  at  which  hor  sister  was  to  enter. 
And  when,  slowly  following-  the  officer,  the  witness  ad- 
vanced to  the  foot  of  the  table,  Effie,  with  the  whole  ex- 
pression of  her  countenance  altered,  from  that  of  con- 
fused shame  and  dismay,  to  an  eager,  imploring,  and 
almost  ecstatic  earnestness  of  entreaty,  with  outstretched 
hands,  hair  streaming  back,  eyes  raised  eagerly  to  her 
sister's  face,  and  glistening  through  tears,  exclaimed,  in 
a  tone  which  went  through  the  heart  of  all  who  heard 
her — ''O  Jeanie,  Jeanie,  save  me,  save  me !" 

With  a  ditferent  feeling",  yet  equally  appropriated  to 
his  proud  and  self-dependent  character,  old  Deans  drew 
himself  back  still  farther  under  the  cover  of  the  bench ; 
so  that  when  Jeanie,  as  she  entered  the  court,  cast  a 
timid  glance  toward  the  place  at  which  she  had  left  him 
seated,  his  venerable  figure  was  no  longer  visible.  He 
sate  do^^^l  on  the  other  side  of  Dumbiedikes,  wrung  his 
hand  hard,  and  whispered,  "Ah,  Laird,  this  is  warst  of 
a' — if  I  can  but  win  ower  this  part — I  feel  my  head  unca 
dizzy;  but  my  Master  is  strong  in  His  servant's  weak- 
ness." After  a  moment's  mental  prayer,  he  again  started 
up,  as  if  impatient  of  continuing  in  any  one  posture,  and 
gradually  edged  himself  forward  toward  the  place  he  had 
just  quitted. 

Jeanie  in  the  meantime  had  advanced  to  the  bottom  of 
the  table,  when,  unable  to  resist  the  impulse  of  affection, 
she  suddenly  extended  her  hand  to  her  sister.  Effie  was 
just  within  the  distance  that  she  could  seize  it  with  both 
hers,  press  it  to  her  mouth,  cover  it  with  kisses,  and 
bathe  it  in  tears,  with  the  fond  devotion  that  a  Catholic 
would  pay  to  a  guardian  saint  descended  for  his  safety; 
while  Jeanie,  hiding  her  own  face  with  her  other  hand, 
wept  bitterly.  The  sight  would  have  moved  a  heart  of 
stone,  much  more  of  flesh  and  blood.  Many  of  the  spec- 
tators shed  tears,  and  it  was  some  time  before  the  pre- 
siding Judge  himself  could  so  far  subdue  his  emotion 
as  to  request  the  witness  to  compose  herself,  and  the 
prisoner  to  forbear  those  marks  of  eager  atTection.  wliifh. 


278  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

however  natural,  could  not  be  permitted  at  that  time, 
and  in  that  presence. 

The  solemn  oath, — "the  truth  to  tell,  and  no  truth  to 
conceal,  as  far  as  she  knew  or  should  be  asked,"  was 
then  administered  by  the  Judge  "in  the  name  of  God, 
and  as  the  witness  should  answer  to  God  at  the  great  day 
of  judgment";  an  awful  adjuration,  which  seldom  fails 
to  make  impression  even  on  the  most  hardened  charac- 
ters, and  to  strike  with  fear  even  the  most  upright. 
Jeanie,  educated  in  deep  and  devout  reverence  for  the 
name  and  attributes  of  the  Deity,  was,  by  the  solemnity 
of  a  direct  appeal  to  his  person  and  justice,  awed,  but  at 
the  same  time  elevated  above  all  considerations,  save 
those  which  she  could,  with  a  clear  conscience,  call  him 
to  witness.  She  repeated  the  form  in  a  low  and  reverent, 
but  distinct  tone  of  voice,  after  the  Judge,  to  whom,  and 
not  to  any  inferior  officer  of  the  court,  the  task  is  as- 
signed in  Scotland  of  directing  the  witness  in  that  solemn 
appeal,  which  is  the  sanction  of  his  testimony. 

When  the  Judge  had  finished  the  established  form,  he 
added  in  a  feeling,  but  yet  in  a  monitory  tone,  an  ad- 
vice, which  the  circumstances  appeared  to  him  to  .call 
for. 

"Young  woman,"  these  were  his  words,  "jou  come  be- 
fore this  Court  in  circumstances  which  it  would  be  worse 
than  cruel  not  to  pity  and  to  sympathize  with.  Yet  it  is 
my  duty  to  tell  you  that  the  truth,  whatever  its  conse- 
quences may  be,  the  truth  is  what  you  owe  to  your  coun- 
try, and  to  that  God  whose  word  is  truth,  and  whose 
name  you  have  now  invoked.  Use  your  own  time  in 
answering  the  questions  that  gentleman"  (pointing  to 
the  counsel)  "shall  put  to  you — ^But  remember,  that  what 
you  may  be  tempted  to  say  beyond  what  is  the  actual 
truth,  you  must  answer  both  here  and  hereafter." 

The  usual  questions  were  then  put  to  her: — Whether 
any  one  had  instructed  her  what  evidence  she  had  to  de- 
liver? Whether  any  one  had  given  or  promised  her  any 
good  deed,  hire,  or  reward,  for  her  testimony?  Whether 
she  had  any  malice'  or  ill-will  at  his  Majesty's  Advocate, 
being  the  party  against  whom  she  was  cited  as  a  witness? 
To  which  questions  she  successively  answered  by  a  quiet 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  279 

negative.  But  their  tenor  gave  great  scandal  and  offence 
to  her  father,  who  was  not  aware  that  they  are  put  to 
every  witness  as  a  matter  of  form. 

*'Xa,  na,"  he  exclaimed,  loud  enough  to  be  heard,  "my 
bairn  is  no  like  the  widow  of  Tekoah — nae  man  has  put- 
ten  words  into  her  mouth." 

One  of  the  Judges,  better  acquainted,  perhaps,  with  the 
Books  of  Adjournal  than  with  the  Book  of  Samuel,  was 
disposed  to  make  some  instant  inquiry  after  this  widow 
of  Tekoah,  who,  as  he  construed  the  matter,  had  been 
tampering  with  the  evidence.  But  the  presiding  Judge, 
better  versed  in  Scripture  history,  whispered  to  his 
learned  brother  the  necessary  explanation ;  and  the  pause 
occasioned  by  this  mistake  had  the  good  effect  of  giving 
Jeanie  Deans  time  to  collect  her  spirits  for  the  painful 
task  she  had  to  perform. 

Fairbrother,  whose  practice  and  intelligence  were  con- 
siderable, saw  the  necessity  of  letting  the  witness  com- 
pose herself.  In  his  heart  he  suspected  that  she  came  to 
bear  false  witness  in  her  sister's  cause. 

*'But  that  is  her  own  affair,"  thought  Fairbrother;  "and 
it  is  my  business  to  see  that  she  has  plenty  of  time  to 
regain  composure,  and  to  deliver  her  evidence,  be  it  true, 
or  be  it  false — valeat  quantum/' 

Accordingly,  he  commenced  his  interrogatories  wath 
uninteresting  questions,  which  admitted  of  instant  reply. 

"You  are,  I  think,  the  sister  of  the  prisoner?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Not  the  full  sister,  however?" 

"No,  sir — we  are  by  different  mothers." 

"True;  and  you  are,  I  think,  several  years  older  than 
your  sister?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  etc. 

After  the  advocate  had  conceived  that,  by  these  pre- 
liminary and  unimjjortant  questions,  he  had  familiarized 
the  witness  with  the  situation  in  which  she  stood,  he 
asked,  whether  she  had  not  remarked  her  sister's  state  of 
health  to  be  altered,  during  the  latter  part  of  the  term 
when  she  had  lived  with  ^frs.   Saddletree?" 

Jeanie  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"And  she  told  you  the  cause  of  it,  my  dear,  I  suppose?" 


280  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

said  Fairbrother,  in  an  easy,  and,  as  one  may  say,  an  in- 
ductive sort  of  tone. 

'T  am  sorry  to  interrupt  my  brother,"  said  the  Crown 
Counsel,  rising,  "but  I  am  in  your  Lordship's  judgment, 
whether  this  be  not  a  leading  question  ?" 

"If  this  point  is  to  be  debated,"  said  the  presiding 
Judge,  "the  witness  must  be  removed." 

For  the  Scottish  lawyers  regard  with  a  sacred  and 
scrupulous  horror,  every  question  so  shaped  by  the  coun- 
sel examining,  as  to  convey  to  a  witness  the  least  intima- 
tion of  the  nature  of  the  answer  which  is  desired  from 
him.  These  scruples,  though  founded  on  an  excellent 
principle,  are  sometimes  carried  to  an  absurd  pitch  of 
nicety,  especially  as  it  is  generally  easy  for  a  lawyer  who 
has  his  wits  about  him  to  elude  the  objection.  Fair- 
brother  did  so  in  the  present  case. 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  waste  the  time  of  the  Court,  my 
Lord;  since  the  King's  Counsel  thinks  it  worth  while  to 
object  to  the  form  of  my  question,  I  will  shape  it  other- 
wise.— Pray,  young  woman,  did  you  ask  your  sister  any 
question  when  you  observed  her  looking  unwell? — take 
courage — speak  out." 

"I  asked  her,"  replied  Jeanie,  "what  ailed  her." 

"Very  well — take  your  own  time — and  what  was  the 
answer  she  made?"  continued  Mr.  Fairbrother. 

Jeanie  was  silent,  and  looked  deadly  pale.  It  was  not 
that  she  at  any  one  instant  entertained  an  idea  of  the 
possibility  of  prevarication — it  was  the  natural  hesita^ 
tion  to  extinguish  the  last  spark  of  hope  that  remained 
for  her  sister. 

"Take  courage,  young  woman,"  said  Fairbrother. — "I 
asked  what  your  sister  said  ailed  her  when  you  inquired  ?" 

"Nothing,"  answered  Jeanie,  with  a  faint  voice,  which 
was  yet  heard  distinctly  in  the  most  distant  corner  of 
the  Court-room, — such  an  awful  and  profound  silence  had 
been  preserved  during  the  anxious  interval,  which  had 
interposed  betwixt  the  lawyer's  question  and  the  answer 
of  the  witness. 

Fairbrother's  countenance  fell;  but  with  that  ready 
presence  of  mind,  which  is  as  useful  in  civil  as  in  mili- 
tary   emergencies,    he    immediately    rallied. — "Nothing? 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  281 

True;  you  mean  nothing  at  first — but  when  you  asked 
her  again,  did  she  not  tell  you  what  ailed  her?" 

The  question  was  put  in  a  tone  meant  to  make  her 
comprehend  the  importance  of  her  answer,  had  she  not 
been  already  aware  of  it.  The  ice  was  broken,  however, 
and,  with  less  pause  than  at  first,  she  now  replied, — 
"Alack !  alack !  she  never  breathed  word  to  me  about  it." 

A  deep  groan  passed  through  the  Court.  It  was  echoed 
by  one  deeper  and  more  agonized  from  the  unfortunate 
father.  The  hope,  to  which  unconsciously,  and  in  spite 
of  himself,  he  had  still  secretly  clung,  had  now  dissolved, 
and  the  venerable  old  man  fell  forward  senseless  on  the 
floor  of  the  Court-house,  with  his  head  at  the  foot  of  his 
terrified  daughter.  The  unfortunate  prisoner,  with  im- 
potent passion,  strove  with  the  guards,  betwixt  whom  she 
was  placed.  ''Let  me  gang  to  my  father! — I  will  gang  to 
him — I  will  gang  to  him — he  is  dead — he  is  killed — I  hae 
killed  him!" — she  repeated  in  frenzied  tones  of  grief, 
which  those  who  heard  them  did  not  speedily  forget. 

Even  in  this  moment  of  agony  and  general  confusion. 
Jeanie  did  not  lose  that  superiority,  which  a  deep  and 
firm  mind  assures  to  its  possessor,  under  the  most  trying 
circumstances. 

""He  is  my  father — he  is  our  father,"  she  mildly  re- 
peated to  those  who  endeavored  to  separate  them,  as  she 
stooped, — shaded  aside  his  gray  hairs,  and  began  assidu- 
ously to  chafe  his  temples. 

The  Judge,  after  repeatedly  wiping  his  eyes,  gave  di- 
rections that  they  should  be  conducted  into  a  neighbor- 
ing apartment,  and  carefully  attended.  The  prisoner,  as 
her  father  was  borne  from  the  Court,  and  her  sister  slowly 
followed,  pursued  them  with  her  eyes  so  earnestly  fixed,  as 
if  they  would  have  started  from  their  socket.  But  when 
they  were  no  longer  visible,  she  seemed  to  find,  in  her  de- 
spairing and  deserted  state,  a  courage  which  she  had  not 
yet  exhibited. 

"The  bitterness  of  it  is  now  past,"  she  said,  and  then 
boldly  addressed  the  Court.  "My  Lords,  if  it  is  your 
pleasure  to  gang  on  wi'  this  matter,  the  weariest  day  will 
hae  its  end  at  last." 

The  Judge,  who,  much  to  his  honor,  had  shared  deeply 


282  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

in  the  general  sympathy,  was  surprised  at  being  recalled 
to  his  duty  by  the  prisoner.  He  collected  himself,  and 
requested  to  know  if  the  panel's  counsel  had  more  evi- 
dence to  produce.  Fairbrother  replied,  with  an  air  of  de- 
jection, that  his  proof  was  concluded. 

The  King's  Counsel  addressed  the  jury  for  the  Crown. 
He  said  in  few  words,  that  no  one  could  be  more  con- 
cerned than  he  was  for  the  distressing  scene  which  they 
had  just  witnessed.  But  it  was  the  necessary  consequence 
of  great  crimes  to  bring  distress  and  ruin  upon  all  con- 
nected with  the  perpetrators.  He  briefly  reviewed  the 
proof,  in  which  he  showed  that  all  the  circumstances  of 
the  case  concurred  with  those  required  by  the  Act  under 
which  the  unfortunate  prisoner  was  tried :  That  the  coun- 
sel for  the  panel  had  totally  failed  in  proving,  that  Eu- 
phemia  Deans  had  communicated  her  situation  to  her 
sister:  That,  respecting  her  previous  good  character,  he 
/  was  sorry  to  observe  that  it  was  females  who  possessed 
the  world's  good  report,  and  to  whom  it  was  justly  valu- 
able, who  were  most  strongly  tempted,  by  shame  and  fear 
of  the  world's  censure,  to  the  crime  of  infanticide :  That 
the  child  was  murdered,  he  professed  to  entertain  no 
doubt.  The  vacillating  and  inconsistent  declaration  of 
the  prisoner  herself,  marked  as  it  was  by  numerous  re- 
fusals to  speak  the  truth  on  subjects,  when,  according  to 
her  own  story,  it  would  have  been  .natural,  as  well  as  ad- 
vantageous, to  have  been  candid;  even  this  imperfect 
declaration  left  no  doubt  in  his  mind  as  to  the  fate  of 
the  unhappy  infant.  Neither  could  he  doubt  that  the 
panel  was  a  partner  in  this  guilt.  Who  else  had  an  in- 
terest in  a  deed  so  inhuman?  Surely  neither  Robertson, 
nor  Robertson's  agent,  in  whose  house  she  was  delivered, 
had  the  least  temptation  to  commit  such  a  crime,  unless 
upon  her  account,  with  her  connivance,  and  for  the  sake 
of  saving  her  reputation.  But  it  was  not  required  of 
him,  by  the  law,  that  he  should  bring  precise  proof  of  the 
murder,  or  of  the  prisoner's  accession  to  it.  It  was  the 
very  purpose  of  the  statute  to  substitute  a  certain  chain 
of  presumptive  evidence  in  place  of  a  probation,  which, 
in  such  cases,  it  was  peculiarly  difficult  to  obtain.  The 
jury  might  peruse  the  statute  itself,  and  they  had  also 


THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  283 

the  libel  and  interlocutor  of  relevancy  to  direct  them  in 
point  of  law.  He  put  it  to  the  conscience  of  the  jury, 
that  under  both  he  was  entitled  to  a  verdict  of  Guilty. 

The  charge  of  Fairbrother  was  much  cramped  by  his 
having  failed  in  the  proof  which  he  expected  to  lead. 
But  he  fought  his  losing  cause  with  courage  and  con- 
stancy. He  ventured  to  arraign  the  severity  of  the  statute 
under  which  the  young  woman  was  tried.  "In  all  other 
cases,"  he  said,  "the  first  thing  required  of  the  criminal 
prosecutor  was,  to  prove  unequivocally  that  the  crime 
libelled  had  actually  been  committed,  which  lawyers  called 
proving  the  corpus  delicti.  But  this  statute,  made  doubt- 
less with  the  best  intentions,  and  under  the  impulse  of 
a  just  horror  for  the  unnatural  crime  of  infanticide,  ran 
the  risk  of  itself  occasioning  the  worst  of  murders,  the 
death  of  an  innocent  person,  to  atone  for  a  supposed 
crime  which  may  never  have  been  committed  by  any  one. 
He  was  so  far  from  asknowledging  the  alleged  probabil- 
ity of  the  child's  violent  death  that  he  could  not  even 
allow  that  there  was  evidence  of  its  having  ever  lived." 

The  King's  Counsel  pointed  to  the  woman's  declara- 
tion; to  which  the  counsel  replied — ''A  production  con- 
cocted in  a  moment  of  terror  and  agony,  and  which  ap- 
proached to  insanity,"  he  said,  "his  learned  brother  well 
knew  was  no  sound  evidence  against  the  party  who 
emitted  it.  It  was  true,  that  a  judicial  confession,  in 
presence  of  the  Justices  themselves,  was  the  strongest  of 
all  proof,  in  so  much  that  it  is  said  in  law,  that  'in 
confitentpm  null(F  sunt  partes  judicis/  But  this  was  true 
of  judicial  confession  only,  by  which  law  meant  that 
which  is  made  in  presence  of  the  justices,  and  the  sworn 
inquest.  Of  extrajudicial  confession,  all  authorities  held 
with  the  illustrious  Farinaceus,  and  Matheus,  'confessio 
extra} udiciali^  in  se  nulla  est;  et  quod  nullum  est,  nan 
potest  adminiculari.'  It  was  totally  inept,  and  void  of 
all  strength  and  effect  from  the  beginning;  incapable, 
therefore,  of  being  bolstered  up  or  supported,  or,  accord- 
ing to  the  law-phrase,  adminiculated,  by  other  presump- 
tive circumstances.  In  the  present  case,  therefore,  letting 
the  extrajudicial  confession  go,  as  it  ought  to  go,  for 
nothing,"   he   contended,    "the  prosecutor  had  not   made 


284  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

out  the  second  quality  of  the  statute,  that  a  live  child 
had  been  born;  and  that,  at  least,  ought  to  be  established 
before  presumptions  were  received  that  it  had  been  mur- 
dered. If  any  of  the  assize,"  he  said,  "should  be  of  opin- 
ion that  this  was  dealing  rather  narrowly  with  the  statute, 
they  ought  to  consider  that  it  was  in  its  nature  highly 
penal,  and  therefore  entitled  to  no  favorable  construc- 
tion." 

He  concluded  a  learned  speech,  with  an  eloquent  pero- 
ration on  the  scene  they  had  just  witnessed,  during  which 
Saddletree  fell  fast  asleep. 

It  was  now  the  presiding  Judge's  turn  to  address  the 
jury.     He  did  so  briefly  and  distinctly. 

"It  was  for  the  jury,"  he  said,  "to  consider  whether  the 
prosecutor  had  made  out  his  plea.  For  himself,  he  sin- 
cerely grieved  to  say,  that  a  shadow  of  doubt  remained 
not  upon  his  mind  concerning  the  verdict  which  the  in- 
quest had  to  bring  in.  He  would  not  follow  the  prisoner's 
counsel  through  the  impeachment  which  he  had  brought 
against  the  statute  of  King  William  and  Queen  Mary. 
He  and  the  jury  were  sworn  to  judge  according  to  the 
laws  as  they  stood,  not  to  criticise,  or  to  evade,  or  even 
to  justify  them.  In  no  civil  case  would  a  counsel  have 
been  permitted  to  plead  his  client's  case  in  the  teeth  of 
the  law;  but  in  the  hard  situation  in  which  counsel  were 
often  placed  in  the  Criminal  Court,  as  well  as  out  of 
favor  to  all  presumptions  of  innocence,  he  had  not  in- 
clined to  interrupt  the  learned  gentleman,  or  narrow  his 
plea.  The  present  law,  as  it  now  stood,  had  been  insti- 
tuted by  the  wisdom  of  their  fathers,  to  check  the  alarm- 
ing progress  of  a  dreadful  crime;  when  it  was  found  too 
severe  for  its  purpose,  it  would  doubtless  be  altered  by 
the  wisdom  of  the  legislature;  at  present  it  was  the  law 
of  the  land,  the  rule  of  the  court,  and,  according  to  the 
oath  which  they  had  taken,  it  must  be  that  of  the  jury. 
This  unhappy  girl's  situation  could  not  be  doubted;  that 
she  had  borne  a  child,  and  that  the  child  had  disappeared, 
were  certain  facts.  The  learned  counsel  had  failed  to 
show  that  she  had  communicated  her  situation.  All  the 
requisites  of  the  case  required  by  the  statute  were  there- 
fore before  the  jury.     The  learned   gentleman   had,   in- 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  285 

deed,  desired  them  to  throw  out  of  consideration  the 
lianel's  own  confession,  which  ^\:as  the  plea  usually  urged, 
in  penury  of  all  others,  by  counsel  in  his  situation,  who 
usually  felt  that  the  declarations  of  their  clients  bore 
hard  on  them.  But  that  the  Scottish  law  designed  that 
a  certain  weight  should  be  laid  on  these  declarations, 
which,  he  admitted,  were  quodammodo  extrajudicial,  was 
evident  from  the  universal  practice  by  which  they  were 
always  produced  and  read,  as  part  of  the  prosecutor's 
probation.  In  the  present  case,  no  person,  who  had  heard 
the  witnesses  describe  the  appearance  of  the  young  woman 
before  she  left  Saddletree's  house,  and  contrasted  it  with 
that  of  her  state  and  condition  at  her  return  to  her 
father's,  could  have  any  doubt  that  the  fact  of  delivery 
had  taken  place,  as  set  forth  in  her  own  declaration,  which 
was,  therefore,  not  a  solitary  piece  of  testimony,  but  ad- 
miniculated  and  supported  by  the  strongest  circumstan- 
tial proof. 

"He  did  not,"  he  said,  "state  the  impression  upon  his 
own  mind  with  the  purpose  of  biasing  theirs.  He  had 
felt  no  less  than  they  had  done  from  the  scene  of  domestic 
misery  which  had  been  exhibited  before  them;  and  if 
they,  having  God  and  a  good  conscience,  the  sanctity  of 
their  oath,  and  the  regard  due  to  the  law  of  the  country, 
before  their  eyes,  could  come  to  a  conclusion  favorable 
to  this  unhappy  prisoner,  he  should  rejoice  as  much  as 
any  one  in  Court;  for  never  had  he  found  his  duty  more 
distressing  than  in  discharging  it  that  day,  and  glad  he 
would  be  to  be  relieved  from  the  still  more  painful  task, 
which  would  otherwise  remain  for  him." 

The  jury%  having  heard  the  Judge's  address,  bowed  and 
retired,  preceded  by  a  macer  of  Court,  to  the  apartment 
destined  for  their  deliberation. 


286  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTEE   XXIY 

Law,  take  thy  victim — May  she  find  the  mercy 

In  yon  mild  heaven,  which  this  hard  world  denies  her! 

It  was  an  hour  ere  the  jurors  returned,  and  as  they 
traversed  the  crowd  with  slow,  steps,  as  men  about  to  dis- 
charge themselves  of  a  heavy  and  painful  responsibility, 
the  audience  was  hushed  into  profound,  earnest,  and  aw- 
ful silence. 

"Have  you  agreed  on  your  chancellor,  gentleman?"  was 
the  first  question  of  the  Judge. 

The  foreman,  called  in  Scotland  the  chancellor  of  the 
jury,  usually  the  man  of  best  rank  and  estimation  among 
the  assizers,  stepped  forward,  and,  with  a  low  reverence, 
delivered  to  the  Court  a  sealed  paper,  containing  the 
verdict,  which,  until  of  late  years,  that  verbal  returns  are 
in  some  instances  permitted,  was  always  couched  in  writ- 
ing. The  jury  remained  standing  while  the  Judge  broke 
the  seals,  and,  having  perused  the  paper,  handed  it,  with 
an  air  of  mournful  gravity,  down  to  the  Clerk  of  Court, 
who  proceeded  to  engross  in  the  record  the  yet  unknown 
verdict,  of  which,  however,  all  omened  the  tragical  con- 
tents. A  form  still  remained,  trifling  and  unimportant 
in  itself,  but  to  which  imagination  adds  a  sort  of  solem- 
nity, from  the  awful  occasion  upon  which  it  is  used. 
A  lighted  candle  was  placed  on  the  table,  the  original 
paper  containing  the  verdict  was  enclosed  in  a  sheet  of 
paper,  and,  sealed  with  the  Judge's  own  signet,  was  trans- 
mitted to  the  Crown  Office,  to  be  preserved  among  other 
records  of  the  same  kind.  As  all  this  is  transacted  in 
profound  silence,  the  producing  and  extinguishing  can- 
dle seems  a  type  of  the  human  spark  which  is  shortly 
afterward  doomed  to  be  quenched,  and  excites  in  the 
spectators  something  of  the  same  effect  which  in  England 
is  obtained  by  the  Judge  assuming  the  fatal  cap  of  judg- 
ment. When  these  preliminary  forms  had  been  gone 
through,  the  Judge  required  Euphemia  Deans  to  attend 
to  the  verdict  to*  be  read. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  287        j 

After  the  usual  words  of  style,  the  verdict  set  forth 
that  the  Jury  having  made  choice  of  John  Kirk,  Esq.,  to 
be  their  chancellor,  and  Thomas  Moore,  merchant,  to  be  ! 
their  clerk,  did,  by  a  plurality  of  voices,  find  the  said 
Euphemia  Deans  Giilty  of  the  crime  libelled;  but,  in 
consideration  of  her  extreme  youth,  and  the  cruel  cir-  ] 
cumstances  of  her  case,  did  earnestly  entreat  that  the 
Jud^e  would  recommend  her  to  the  mercy  of  the  Crown. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  Judg-e,  "you  have  done  your 
duty — and  a  painful  one  it  must  have  been  to  men  of  u^ 
humanity  like  you.  I  will,  undoubtedly,  transmit  your 
recommendation  to  the  throne.  But  it  is  my  duty  to  tell 
all  who  now  hear  me,  but  especially  to  inform  that  un- 
happy young  woman,  in  order  that  her  mind  may  be  set- 
tled accordingly,  that  I  have  not  the  least  hope  of  a  par- 
don being  granted  in  the  present  case.  You  know  the  1 
crime  has  been  increasing  in  this  land,  and  I  know  far-  < 

ther,  that  this  has  been  ascribed  to  the  lenity  in  which  1 
the  laws  have  been  exercised,  and  that  there  is  therefore 
no  hope  whatever  of  obtaining  a  remission  for  this  of- 
fence." The  jury  bowed  again,  and,  released  from  their 
painful  office,  dispersed  themselves  among  the  mass  of 
bystanders.  | 

The  Court  then  asked  Mr.  Fairbrother,  whether  he  had  i 
anything  to  say,  why  judgment  should  not  follow  on  the  ., 
verdict?     The  counsel  had  spent  some  time  in  perusing  i 

and  reperusing  the  verdict,  counting  the  letters  in  each  I 

juror's  name,  and  weighing  every  phrase,  nay,  every  syl-  i 

lable,  in  the  nicest  scales  of  legal  criticism.  But  the 
clerk  of  the  jury  had   understood   his  business  too  well.  ^ 

No  flaw  was  to  be  found,  and  Fairbrother  mournfully 
intimated  that  he  had  nothing  to  say  in  arrest  of  judg- 
ment, i 

The  presiding  Judge  then  addressed  the  unhappy  pris- 
oner:— "Euphemia  Deans,  attend  to  the  sentence  of  the 
Court  now  to  be  pronounced  against  you."  ; 

She  rose  from  her  scat,  and,  with  a  composure  far 
greater  than  could  have  been  augured  from  her  demeanor 
during  some  parts  of  the  trial,  abode  the  conclusion  of 
the  awful  scene.  So  nearly  does  the  mental  portion  of 
our  feelings  resemble  those  which  are  corporal,  that  the  i 


288  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

first  severe  blows  which  we  receive  bring  with  them  a 
stunning  apathy,  which  renders  us  indifferent  to  those 
that  follow  them.  Thus  said  Mandrin,  when  he  was  un- 
dergoing the  punishment  of  the  wheel;  and  so  have  all 
felt,  upon  whom  successive  inflictions  have  descended 
with  continuous  and  reiterated  violence. 

"Young  woman,"  said  the  Judge,  "it  is  my  painful 
duty  to  tell  you,  that  your  life  is  forfeited  under  a  law, 
which,  if  it  may  seem  in  some  degree  severe,  is  yet  wisely 
so,  to  render  those  of  your  unhappy  situation  aware  what 
risk  they  run,  by  Cjoncealing,  out  of  pride  or  false  shame, 
their  lapse  from  virtue,  and  making  no  preparation  to 
save  the  lives  of  the  unfortunate  infants  whom  they  are 
to  bring  into  the  world.  When  you  concealed  your  situ- 
ation from  your  mistress,  your  sister,  and  other  worthy 
and  compassionate  persons  of  your  own  sex,  in  whose 
favor  your  former  conduct  had  given  you  a  fair  place, 
you  seem  to  me  to  have  had  in  your  contemplation,  at 
least,  the  death  of  the  helpless  creature,  for  whose  life 
you  neglected  to  provide.  How  the  child  was  disposed 
of — whether  it  was  dealt  upon  by  another,  or  by  yourself 
— whether  the  extraordinary  story  you  have  told  is  partly 
false,  or  altogether  so,  is  between  God  and  your  own  con- 
science. I  will  not  aggravate  your  distress  by  pressing 
on  that  topic,  but  I  do  most  solemnly  adjure  you  to  em- 
ploy the  remaining  space  of  your  time  in  making  your 
peace  with  God,  for  which  purpose  such  reverend  clergy- 
man, as  you  yourself  may  name,  shall  have  access  to  you. 
Notwithstanding  the  humane  recommendation  of  the 
jury,  I  cannot  afford  to  you,  in  the  present  circumstances 
of  the  country,  the  slightest  hope  that  your  life  will  be 
prolonged  beyond  the  period  assigned  for  the  execution 
of  your  sentence.  Forsaking,  therefore,  the  thoughts  of 
this  world,  let  your  mind  be  prepared  by  repentance  for 
those  of  more  awful  moments — for  death,  judgment,  and 
eternity. — Doomster,  read  the  sentence."  * 

When  the  Doomster  showed  himself,  a  tall  haggard 
figure,  arrayed  in  a  fantastic  garment  of  black  and  gray, 
passmented  with  silver  lace,  all  fell  back  with  a  sort  of 

*  Note  XII. — Doomster,  or  Dempster,  of  Court. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN        '  289 

instinctive  horror,  and  made  wide  way  for  him  to  ap- 
proach the  foot  of  the  table.  As  this  office  was  held  by 
the  common  executioner,  men  shouldered  each  other  back- 
ward to  avoid  even  the  touch  of  his  garment,  and  some 
were  seen  to  brush  their  own  clothes,  which  had  acci- 
dentally become  subject  to  such  contamination.  A  sound 
went  through  the  court,  produced  by  each  person  draw- 
ing in  their  breath  hard,  as  men  do  when  they  expect  or 
witness  what  is  frightful,  and  at  the  same  time  affecting. 
The  caitiif  villain  yet  seemed,  amid  his  hardened  bru- 
tality, to  have  some  sense  ox  Lis  being  the  object  of  pub- 
lic detestation,  which  made  him  impatient  of  being  in 
public,  as  birds  of  evil  omen  are  anxious  to  escape  from 
daylight,  and  from  pure  air. 

Repeating  after  the  Clerk  of  Court,  he  gabbled  over 
the  words  of  the  sentence,  which  condemned  Euphemia 
Deans  to  be  conducted  back  to  the  Tolbooth  of  Edin- 
burgh, and  detained  there  until  Wednesday  the  day 

of ;  and  upon  that  day,  betwixt  the  hours  of  two  and 

four  o'clock  afternoon,  to  be  conveyed  to  the  common 
place  of  execution,  and  there  hanged  by  the  neck  upon 
a  gibbet.  "And  this,"  said  the  Doomster,  aggravating 
his  harsh  voice,  'T  pronounce  for  doom." 

He  vanished  when  he  had  spoken  the  last  emphatic 
word,  like  a  foul  fiend  after  the  purpose  of  his  visitation 
has  been  accomplished ;  but  the  impression  of  horror,  ex- 
cited by  his  presence  and  his  errand,  remained  upon  the 
crowd  of  spectators. 

The  unfortunate  criminal, — for  so  she  must  now  be 
termed, — with  more  susceptibility,  and  more  irritable 
feelings  than  her  father  and  sister,  was  found,  in  this 
emergence,  to  possess  a  considerable  share  of  their  cour- 
age. She  had  remained  standing  motionless  at  the  bar 
while  the  sentence  was  pronounced,  and  was  observed  to 
shut  her  eyes  when  the  Doomster  appeared.  But  she  was 
the  first  to  break  silence  when  tliat  evil  form  had  left  his 
place. 

"God  forgive  ye,  my  Lords,"  she  said,  "and  dinna  be 
angr>'  wi'  me  for  wishing  it — we  a'  need  forgiveness. — 
As  for  myself  I  canna  blame  ye,  for  ye  act  up  to  your 
lights;   and    if   I   havena'  killed   my  poor   infant,  ye  may 


290  THE   HEART    OF   :MID-L0THIAN 

witness  a'  that  hae  seen  it  this  day,  that  I  hae  been  the 
means  of  killing  my  gray-headed  father — I  deserve  the 
warst  frae  man,  and  frae  God  too — But  God  is  mair 
mereifu'  to  us  than  we  are  to  each  other." 

With  these  words  the  trial  concluded.  The  crowd 
rushe<l,  bearing  forward  and  shouldering  each  other,  out 
of  the  court,  in  the  same  tumultuary  mode  in  which  they 
had  entered;  and,  in  the  excitation  of  animal  motion  and 
animal  spirits,  soon  forgot  whatever  they  had  felt  as  im* 
pressive  in  tl  '     '     '  id  witnessed.     The  pro- 

fessional   sp'  and    theory    had    ren- 

dered as  callous  to  the  distress  of  the  scene  as  medical 
men  are  to  those  of  a  '  ition,  walked  home- 

ward  in  groups,  disc-u.--  ral  principle  of  the 

statute  under  w^hich  the  young  woman  was  condemned, 
the  nature  of  the  evidence,  and  the  arguments  of  the 
counsel,  without  considering  even  that  of  the  Judge  as 
exempt  from  their  criticism. 

The  female  spjcctators,  more  compassionate,  were  loud 
in  exclamation  against  that  part  of  the  Judge's  speech 
which  seemexi  to  cut  off  the  hope  of  pardon. 

"Set  him  up,  indeed,"  said  ^rs.  Howden,  "to  tell  us 
that  the  poor  lassie  behoved  to  die,  when  Mr.  John  Kirk, 
as  civil  ;  -   is  within  the  fforts  of  the  town, 

took  the  ;  .       -:  for  her  hiniselL" 

"Ay,  but,  neighbor,"  said  Miss  Damahoy,  drawing  up 
her  til  '     ly  form  to  its  full  height  of  .i  '        'y 

— "I   :  •;  this  unnatural  business  of 

tard-baims  should  be  putten  a  stop  to — There  isna  a 
hussy  now  on  this  side  of  thirty  that  you  can  bring  within 
your  doc»rs,  but  there  will  be  chields — writer-lads,  pren- 
tice-lads, and  what  not — coming  traiking  after  them  for 
their  destruction,  and  discrediting  ane's  honest  house 
into  the  bargain — I   hae  nae  patience  wi'  them." 

"Hout,  neighbor,"  said  Mrs.  Howden,  **we  suld  live  and 
let  live — we  hae  be«en  young  oursells,  and  we  are  no  aye 
to  judge  the  worst  when  lads-  and  lasses  fortrathc-r." 

"Young  oursf'lls  ?  and  judge  the  warst  f  said  Miss 
Damahoy.  'T  am  no  §ae  auld  as  that  comes  to,  Mrs. 
Howden ;  and  as  for  what  ye  ca'  the  warst,  I  ken  neither 
gof»d  nor  bad  about  the  matter,  I  thank  my  stare  1" 


THE  HEART   OF   MID-LOTHIAN  291 

tht-n,"   »aid    Mrs, 
] .  1   as  for  you  and 

young — 1  trow  ye  were  doiiur  for  yoursiell  at  the  last 
ridixjir  <rf  tJie  SH>ta  P  -'  -  *.  and  *^-  -as  in  the 
fmtdvQA  ytmr  seretL,  fu.  f  nae  s  en  at  ony 

PliUDdaxDAJk  who  acted     -    - -nipe  of  the  body  to  the 
vo  oont«ndin|r  damea.  i:  »aw  the  hazard   of  en- 

.    ;«MK*  a:.  .   _       .   ..    .,   .         ...  in 

_'  hack  the  conversation  to  its  oritrinal  sul 

'     '_..    -  >        .   -  •  ^  '  '  ^  >-  ^^ 

•         •■  ■•  .    .  ■       .  -  "S 

be;  "there  i«  aye  a  wimple  in  a  lawyers  clue;  but 

.:  ?       ~       '^it  of  a  i^erret,'' 

*\\  .at    is't  ? — whftt    i^'t,    T>ei«rhhor    Plumdama^r* 

-lid  }Jr!»,  Howden  ar-  >y  at  once,  the  acid 

—  .-'♦•♦■'•      ''  •"^■-   '  irr  ,.ii/   ?i^   nnrv-v  Tio^itralired 

]   in   t}i'-    .^    r  i    -•■  Ttt. 
■J  "  '  than  nae, 

*'•■'»'  .....     ; .... ,     - —  .  .. —  ......as  as  Sad- 

•  up.  with  hii»  wife  hangintr  on  his  arm,  and 
-     ate, 
,  .   was  put  to  Saddletree,  he  looked 

mful,     **Tbey  si»eak  about  stopping  the  frequency 
■  '   rT  said   he,  in   a   ('(^-nU'Tt. 
lid  enemies  of  Enfflflr.-i 
a's    thetn    m    his    printed    Statute-:  t»oddle 

»rt 

says  If     Xa,  na,   it's  no 

bit   laiisie.      But 


.\  .  ^ 11- 


I'' 


1 J I J ■  'ii 


>\. 


.f  th**  plea.  i.»  flnd  qiwer*   are 

i,  if  the  h..  ]  be  •' 

♦ow,'' 

■  f^T  were  >  •  ir  Gennaa  kailyard 

fta  mr  T  MaK^ro*kie  ca's  it,"  aaid  Mrsi.  How- 

^"aun  to  guide  naP 
.    Ifias   Dunaboy,    *Hhat 


292  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

King  George  flang  his  periwig  in  the  fire  when  he  heard 
o'  the  Porteous  mob." 

"He  has  done  that,  they  say,"  replied  Saddletree,  "for 
less  thing." 

"Aweel,"  said  Miss  Damahoy,  "he  might  keep  mair  wit 
in  his  anger — but  it's  a'  the  better  for  his  wigmaker,  I'se 
warrant." 

"The  queen  tore  her  biggonets  for  perfect  anger, — 
ye'll  hae  heard  o'  that  too?"  said  'Plumdamas.  "And  the 
king,  they  say,  kickit  Sir  Robert  Walpole  for  no  keeping 
down  the  mob  of  Edinburgh;  but  I  dinna  believe  he  wad 
behave  sae  ungenteel." 

"It's  doom's  truth,  though,"  said  Saddletree;  "and  he 
was  for  kickin  the  Duke  of  Argyle  *  too." 

"Kickin  the  Duke  of  Argyle!"  exclaimed  the  hearers 
at  once,  in  all  the  various  combined  keys  of  utter  aston- 
ishment. 

"Ay,  but  MacCallummore's  blood  wadna  sit  down  wi' 
that;  there  was  risk  of  Andro  Ferrara  coming  in  thirds- 
man." 

"The  duke  is  a  real  Scotsman — a  true  friend  to  the 
country,"   answered   Saddletree's  hearers. 

"Ay,  troth  is  he,  to  king  and  country  baith,  as  ye  sail 
hear,"  continued  the  orator,  "if  ye  will  come  in  bye  to 
our  house,  for  it's  safest  speaking  of  sic  things  inter 
parietes." 

When  they  entered  his  shop  he  thrust  his  prentice  boy 
out  of  it,  and,  unlocking  his  desk,  took  out,  with  an  air 
of  grave  and  complacent  importance,  a  dirty  and  crum- 
pled piece  of  printed  paper;  he  observed,  "This  is  new 
corn — it's  no  everybody  could  show  ye  the  like  o'  this. 
It's  the  duke's  speech  about  the  Porteous  mob,  just 
promulgated  by  the  hawkers.  Ye  shall  hear  what  Ian 
Hoy  Cean  f  says  for  himsell.  My-  correspondent  bought 
it  in  the  Palace  yard,  that's  like  just  under  the  king's 
nose — I  think  he  claws  up  their  mittens! — It  came  in  a 
letter    about    a    foolish    bill    of   exchange    that   the    man 

*  Note  XIII. — John  Duke  of  Argyle  and   Greenwich. 

t  Red  John  the  Warrior,  a  name  personal  and  proper  in  the  High- 
lands to  John  Duke  of  Argyle  and  Greenwich,  as  MacCummin  was  that 
of  his  race  or  dignity. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  293 

wanted  me  to  renew  for  him.  I  wish  ye  wad  see  about 
it,  Mrs.  Saddletree." 

Honest  Mrs.  Saddletree  had  hitherto  been  so  sincerely 
distressed  about  the  situation  of  her  unfortunate  protegee, 
that  she  had  suffered  her  husband  to  proceed  in  his  own 
way,  without  attending  to  what  he  was  saying.  The 
words  hill  and  renew  had,  however,  an  awakening  sound 
in  them;  and  she  snatched  the  letter  which  her  husband 
held  toward  her,  and  wiping  her  eyes,  and  putting  on  her 
spectacles,  endeavored,  as  fast  as  the  dew  which  collected 
on  her  glasses  would  permit,  to  get  at  the  meaning  of  the 
needful  part  of  the  epistle;  while  her  husband,  with  pom- 
pous elevation,  read  an  extract  from  the  speech. 

''I  am  no  minister,  I  never  was  a  minister,  and  I  never 
will  be  one ' 

'T  didna  ken  his  grace  was  ever  designed  for  the  min- 
istr;s%"  interrupted  Mrs.  Howden. 

"He  disna  mean  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  Mrs.  How- 
den, but  a  minister  of  state,"  said  Saddletree,  with  con- 
descending goodness,  and  then  proceeded :  "The  time  was 
when  I  might  have  been  a  piece  of  a  minister,  but  I  was 
too  sensible  of  my  own  incapacity  to  engage  in  any  state 
affair.  And  I  thank  God  that  I  had  always  too  great  a 
value  for  those  few  abilities  which  nature  has  given  me, 
to  employ  them  in  doing  any  drudgery,  or  any  job  of 
what  kind  soever.  I  have,  ever  since  I  set  out  in  the 
world  (and  I  believe  few  have  set  out  more  early),  served 
my  prince  with  my  tongue;  I  have  served  him  with  any 
little  interest  I  had,  and  I  have  served  him  with  my 
sword,  and  in  my  profession  of  arms.  I  have  held  em- 
ployments which  I  have  lost,  and  were  I  to  be  to-morrow 
deprived  of  those  which  still  remain  to  me,  and  which  I 
have  endeavored  honestly  to  deserve,  I  would  still  servo 
him  to  the  last  acre  of  my  inheritance,  and  to  the  last 
drop  of  m'y  blood " 

Mrs.  Saddletree  here  broke  in  upon  the  orator. — "Mr. 
Saddletree,  what  is  the  meaning  of  a'  this?  Here  are  ye 
flavering  about  the  Duke  of  Arg^'le,  and  this  man  Martin- 
gale gaun  to  break  on  our  hands,  and  lose  us  gude  sixty 
pounds — I  wonder  what  duke  will  pay  that,  quotha — I 
wish  the  Duke  of  Argyle  would  pay  his  ain  accounts — He 


294  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

is  in  a  thousand  punds  Scots  on  tkae  very  books  when 
he  was  last  at  Roystoun — I'm  no  saying  but  he's  a  Just 
nobleman,  and  that  it's  gude  siller — but  it  wad  drive 
ane  daft  to  be  confused  wi'  deukes  and  drakes,  and  thae 
distressed  folk  upstairs,  that's  Jeanie  Deans  and  her 
father.  And  then,  putting  the  very  callant  that  was 
sewing  the  curpel  out  o'  the  shop,  to  play  wi'  blackguards 
in  the  close — Sit  still,  neighbors,  it's  no  that  I  mean  to 
disturb  you;  but  what  between  courts  o'  law  and  courts 
o'  state,  and  upper  and  under  parliaments,  and  parlia- 
ment houses,  here  and  in  London,  the  gudeman's  gane 
clean  gyte,  I  think." 

The  gossips  understood  civility,  and  the  rule  of  doing 
as  they  would  be  done  by,  too  well,  to  tarry  upon  the 
slight  invitation  implied  in  the  conclusion  of  this  speech, 
and  therefore  made  their  farewells  and  departures  as  fast 
as  possible.  Saddletree  whispering  to  Plumdamas  that  he 
would  ''meet  him  at  MacCroskie's"  (the  low-browed  shop 
in  the  Luckenbooths,  already  mentioned),  "in  the  hour 
of  cause,  and  put  MacCallummore's  speech  in  his  pocket, 
for  a'  the  gudewife's  din." 

When  Mrs.  Saddletree  saw  the  house  freed  of  her  im- 
portunate visitors,  and  the  little  boy  reclaimed  from  the 
pastimes  of  the  wynd  to  the  exercise  of  the  awl,  she  went 
to  visit  her  unhappy  relative,  David  Deans,  and  his  elder 
daughter,  who  had  found  in  her  house  the  nearest  place 
of  friendly  refuge. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

Isah.  Alas!  what  poor  ability's  in  me 
To  do   him   good? 

Lucio.  Assay   the   power    you   have. 

Measure  for  Measure. 

When  Mrs.  Saddletree  entered  the  apartment  in  which 
her  guests  had  shrouded  their  misery,  she  found  the  win- 
dow darkened.  The  feebleness  which  followed  his  long 
swoon  had  rendered  it  necessary  to  lay  the  old  man  in 
bed.     The  curtains  were  drawn  around  him,  and  Jeanie 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  295 

sat  motionless  by  the  side  of  the  bed.  Mrs.  Saddletree 
was  a  woman  of  kindness,  nay,  of  feeling,  but  not  of 
delicacy.  She  opened  the  half-shut  window,  drew  aside 
the  curtain,  and  taking-  her  kinsman  by  the  hand,  ex- 
horted him  to  sit  up,  and  bear  his  sorrow  like  a  good 
man,  and  a  Christian  man,  as  he  was.  But  when  she 
quitted  his  hand,  it  fell  powerless  by  his  side,  nor  did  he 
attempt  the  least  reply. 

'Ts  all  over?"  asked  Jeanie,  with  lips  and  cheeks  as  pale 
as  ashes — "and  is  there  nae  hope  for  her  ?" 

''Xane,  or  next  to  nane,"  said  Mrs.  Saddletree;  "I  heard 
the  Judge-carle  say  it  with  my  ain  ears — It  was  a  burning 
shame  to  see  sae  mony  o'  them  set  up  yonder  in  ihevi 
red  gowns  and  black  gowns,  and  a'  to  take  the  life  o'  a 
bit  senseless  lassie.  I  had  never  muckle  broo  o'  my  gude- 
man's  gossips,  and  now  I  like  them  waur  than  ever.  The 
only  wiselike  thing  I  heard  onybody  say,  was  decent  Mr. 
John  Kirk  of  Kirk-knowe,  and  he  wussed  them  just  to 
get  the  king's  mercy,  and  nae  mair  about  it.  But  he 
spake  to  'unreasonable  folk — he  might  just  hae  keepit  his 
breath  to  hae  blown  on  his  porridge." 

"But  can  the  king  gie  her  mercy?"  said  Jeanie  earnest- 
ly. "Some  folk  tell  me  he  canna  gie  mercy  in  cases  of 
mur in  cases  like  hers." 

"Can  he  gie  mercy,  hinny? — I  weel  I  wot  he  can,  when 
he  likes.  There  was  young  Single-sword,  that  stickit  the 
Laird  of  Ballencleuch,  and  Captain-  Hackum,  the  Eng- 
lishman, that  killed  Lady  Colgrain's  gudeman,  and  the 
Master  of  Saint  Clair,  that  shot  the  twa  Shaws,  and  mony 
mair  in  my  time — to  be  sure  they  were  gentle  blude,  and 
had  their  kin  to  speak  for  them — And  there  was  Jock 
Porteous  the  other  day — I'se  warrant  there's  mercy,  an 
folk  could  win  at  it." 

'"Porteous^"  said  Jeanie;  "very  true — I  forget  a'  that 
I  suld  maist  mind. — Fare  ye  weel,  !Mrs.  Saddletree;  and 
may  ye  never  want  a  friend  in  the  hour  o'  distress!" 

"Will  ye  no  stay  wi'  your  father,  Jeanie,  bairn? — Ye 
had  better,"  said  Mrs.  Saddletree. 

"I  will  be  wanted  ower  yonder,"  indicated  the  Tolbooth 
with  her  hand,  "and  I  maun  loavo  him  now,  or  I  will 
never  be  able  to  leave  hii7i.     I  fearna  for  his  life — I  ken 


296  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

how  strong-hearted  he  is — I  ken  it,"  she  said,  laying  her 
hand  on  her  bosom,  "by  my  ain  heart  at  this  minute." 

"Weel,  hinny,  if  ye  think  it's  for  the  best,  better  he 
stay  here  and  rest  him,  than  gang  back  to  St.  Leonard's." 

"Muckle  better — muckle  better — God  bless  you — God 
bless  you! — At  no  rate  let  him  gang  till  ye  hear  frae 
me,"  said  Jeanie. 

"But  ye'll  be  back  belive?"  said  Mrs.  Saddletree,  detain- 
ing her;  "they  wunna  let  ye  stay  yonder,  hinny." 

"But  I  maun  gang  to  St.  Leonard's — there's  muckle  to 
be  dune,  and  little  time  to  do  it  in — And  I  have  friends 
to  speak  to — God  bless  you — take  care  of  my  father." 

She  had  reached  the  door  of  the  apartment,  when,  sud- 
denly turning,  she  came  back,  and  knelt  down  by  the  bed- 
side.— "O  father,  gie  me  your  blessing — I  dare  not  go  till 
ye  bless  me.  Say  but  God  bless  ye,  and  prosper  ye, 
Jeanie — try  but  to  say  that !" 

Instinctively,  rather  than  by  an  exertion  of  intellect, 
the  .old  man  murmured  a  prayer,  that  "purchased  and 
promised  blessings  might  be  multiplied  upon  her." 

"He  has  blessed  mine  errand,"  said  his  daughter,  rising 
from  her  knees,  "and  it  is  borne  in  upon  my  mind  that  I 
shall  prosper." 

So  saying,  she  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Saddletree  looked  after  her,  and  shook  her  head. 
"I  wish  she  binna  roving,  poor  thing — There's  something 
queer  about  a'  thae  Deanses.  I  dinna  like  folk  to  be  sae 
muckle  better  than  other  folk — seldom  comes  gude  o't. 
But  if  she's  gaun  to  look  after  the  kye  at  St.  Leonard's, 
that's  another  story;  to  be  sure  they  maun  be  sorted. — 
Grizzle,  come  up  here,  and  take  tent  to  the  honest  auld 
man,  and  see  he  wants  naething. — Ye  silly  tawpie"  (ad- 
dressing the  maid-servant  as  she  entered),  "what  garr'd 
ye  busk  up  your  cockernony  that  gate  ? — I  think  there's 
been  eneugh  the  day  to  gie  an  awfu'  warning  about  your 
cockups  and  your  fallal  duds — see  what  they  a'  come  to," 
etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

Leaving  the  good  lady  to  her  lecture  upon  worldly  vani- 
ties, we  must  transport  our  reader  to  the  cell  in  which 
the  unfortunate  Effie  Deans  was  now  immured,  being  re- 


rilK    IIKAKT    OF    MlD-LOTlllAX  297 

stri«  R(i  <'i  several  liberties  which  she  had  enjoyed  before 
the  sentence  was  pronounced. 

When  she  had  remained  about  an  hour  in  the  state  of 
stupefied  horror  so  natural  in  her  situation,  she*  was  dis- 
turbed by  the  openinjj:  of  the  jarring  bolts  of  her  place 
of  confinement,  and  Ratcliffe  showed  himself.  ''It's  your 
sister,"'  he  said,  "wants  to  speak  t'ye,  Effie.'' 

"I  canna  see  naebody,"  said  Effie,  wiih  the  hasty  irrita- 
bility which  misery  had  rendered  more  acute — ''I  canna 
see  naebody.  and  least,  of  a'  her — Bid  her  take  care  of  the 
auld  man — I  am  naething  to  ony  o'  them  now,  nor  them 
to  me." 

"She  says  she  maun  see  ye,  though,''  said  Ratcliffe;  and 
Jeanie,  rushing  into  the  apartment,  threw  her  arms  round 
her  sisters  neck,  who  writhed  fo  extricate  herself  from 
her  embrace. 

"AVhat  signifies  coming  to  greet  ower  me,"  said  poor 
Effie,  ''when  you  have  killed  me? — killed  me,  when  a  word 
of  your  mouth  would  have  saved  me — killed  me,  when  I 
am  an  innocent  creature — innocent  of  that  guilt  at  least 
— and  me  that  wad  hae  wared  body  and  soul  to  save  your 
finger  from  being  hurt!" 

"You  shall  not  die,"  said  Jeanie,  with  enthusiastic  firm- 
ness ;  "say  what  ye  like  o'  me — think  what  ye  like  o'  me — 
only  promise — for  I  doubt  your  proud  heart — that  ye 
wunna  harm  vourself,  and  vou  shall  not  die  this  shameful 
death." 

"A  shameful  death  I  will  not  die,  Jeanie,  lass.  I  have 
that  in  my  heart — though  it  has  been  ower  kind  a  ane — 
that  wunna  bide  shame.  Gae  hame  to  our  father,  and 
think  nae  mair  on  me — I  have  eat  my  last  earthly  meal." 

"Oh,  this  was  what  I  feared!"  said  Jeanie. 

'Ilout,  tout,  hinnie,"  said  Ratclitfe;  "it's  but  little  ye 
ken  o'  thae  things.  Ane  aye  thinks  at  the  first  dinnle  o* 
the  sentence,  they  hae  heart  eneugh  to  die  rather  than 
bide  out  the  sax  weeks;  but  they  aye  bide  the  sax  weeks 
out  for  a'  that.  I  ken  the  gate  o't  weel;  I  hae  fronted 
the  doomster  three  times,  and  here  I  stand,  Jim  Ratcliffe, 
for  a'  that.  Had  I  tied  my  napkin  strait  the  first  time, 
a»  I  had  a  great  mind  till't — and  it  was  a'  about  a  bit 


298  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

gray  cowt,  wasna  worth  ten  punds  sterling — where  would 
I  have  been  now?" 

"And  how  did  you  escape?"  said  Jeanie,  the  fates  of 
this  man,  at  first  so  odious  to  her,  having  acquired  a 
sudden  interest  in  her  eyes  from  their  correspondence 
with  those  of  her  sister. 

''How  did  I  escape?"  said  Ratcliffe,  with  a  knowing 
wink, — 'T  tell  ye  I  'scapit  in  a  way  that  naebody  will 
escape  from  this  Tolbooth  while  I  keep  the  keys." 

''My  sister  shall  come  out  in  the  face  of  the  sun,"  said 
Jeanie;  "I  will  go  to  London,  and  beg  her  pardon  from 
the  king  and  queen.  If  they  pardoned  Porteous,  they  may 
pardon  her;  if  a  sister  asks  a  sister's  life  on  her  bended 
knees,  they  wi-ll  pardon  her — they  shall  pardon  her — and 
they  will  win  a  thousand  hearts  by  it." 

Effie  listened  in  bewildered  astonishment,  and  so  ear- 
nest was  her  sister's  enthusiastic  assurance,  that  she  al- 
most involuntarily  caught  a  gleam  of  hope;  but  it 
instantly  faded  away. 

"Ah,  Jeanie !  the  king  and  queen  live  in  London,  a  thou- 
sand miles  from  this — far  ayont  the  saut  sea ;  I'll  be  gane 
before  ye  win  there!" 

"You  are  mistaen,"  said  Jeanie;  "it  is  no  sae  far,  and 
they  go  to  it  by  land;  I  learned  something  about  thae 
things  from  Reuben  Butler." 

"Ah,  Jeanie!  ye  never  learned  onything  but  what  was 
gude  frae  the  folk  ye  keepit  company  wi';  but  I — but  I" 
• — she  wrung  her  hands,  and  wept  bitterly. 

"Dinna  think  on  that  now,"  said  Jeanie;  "there  will  be 
time  for  that  if  the  present  space  be  redeemed.  Fare  ye 
weel!  Unless  I  die  by  the  road,  I  will  see  the  king's  face 
that  gies  grace. — O  sir"  (to  Ratcliffe),  "be  kind  to  her. — 
She  ne'er  kend  what  it  was  to  need  stranger's  kindness  till 
now. — Fareweel — fareweel,  Effie! — Dinna  speak  to  me — I 
mauna  greet  now — my  head's  ower  dizzy  already." 

She  tore  herself  from  her  sister's  arms,  and  left  the  cell. 
Ratcliffe  followed  her,  and  beckoned  her  into  a  small 
room.     She  obeyed  his  signal,  but  not  without  trembling. 

"What's  the  fule  thing  shaking  for?"  said  he;  'T  mean 
nothing  but  civility  to  you.  D — n  me,  I  respect  you,  and 
T  can't  help  it.     You  have  so  much  spunk,  that,  d — n  me. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN'  299 

hut  I  think  there's  some  chance  of  .your  carrying  the  day. 
But  you  must  not  go  to  the  king  till  you  have  made  some 
friend;  try  the  duke — try  MacCallummore;  he's  Scotland's 
friend — I  ken  that  the  great  folks  dinna  niuckle  like  him 
— but  they  fear  him,  and  that  will  serve  your  purpose  as 
weel.     D'ye  ken  naebody  wad  gie  ye  a  letter  to  him?" 

"Duke  of  Argyle?"  said  Jeanie,  recollecting  herself  sud- 
denly— "what  was  he  to  that  Argyle  that  suffered  in  my 
father's  time — in  the  persecution  ?" 

"His  son  or  grandson,  I'm  thinkinrr,"  said  Ratcliffe, 
"but  what  o'  that?" 

"Thank  God!"  said  Jeanie,  devoutly  clasping  her  hands. 

"You  whigs  are  aye  thanking  God  for  something,"  said 
the  ruffian.  "But  hark  ye,  hinny,  I'll  tell  ye  a  secret. 
Ye  may  meet  wi'  rough  customers  on  the  Border,  or  in 
the  Midland,  afore  ye  get  to  Lunnon.  Now,  deil  ane  o' 
them  will  touch  an  acquaintance  o'  Daddie  Ratton's;  for 
though  I  am  retired  frae  public  practice,  yet  they  ken  I 
can  do  a  gude  or  an  ill  turn  yet — and  deil  a  gude  fellow 
that  has  been  but  a  twelvemonth  on  the  lay,  be  he  ruffler 
or  padder,  but  he  knows  my  gybe  as  well  as  the  jark  of 
e'er  a  queer  cuffin  in  England — and  there's  rogue's  Latin 
for  you." 

It  was,  indeed,  totally  -unintelligible  to  Jeanie  Deans, 
who  was  only  impatient  to  escape  from  him.  He  hastily 
scrawled  a  line  or  two  on  a  dirty  piece  of  paper,  and  said 
to  her,  as  she  drew  back  when  he  offered  it,  ''Hey!  what 
the  deil — it  wunna  bite  you,  my  lass — if  it  does  nae  gude, 
it  can  do  nae  ill.  But  I  wish  you  to  show  it,  if  you 
have  ony  fasherie  wi'  ony  o'  St.  Nicholas's  clerks." 

"Alas!"  said  she,  "I  do  not  understand  what  you  mean." 

'T  mean,  if  ye  fall  among  thieves,  my  precious, — that  is 
a  Scripture  phrase,  if  ye  will  hae  ane — the  bauldest  of 
them  will  ken  a  scart  o'  my  guse  feather.  And  now  awa 
wi'  ye — and  stick  to  Argyle;  if  onybody  can  do  the  job, 
it  maun  be  him." 

After  casting  an  anxious  look  at  the  grated  windows 
and  blackened  walls  of  the  old  Tolbooth,  and  another 
scarce  less  anxious  at  the  hospitable  lodging  of  Mrs.  Sad- 
dletree, Jeanie  turned  her  back  on  that  quarter,  and  soon 
after  on  the  city  itself.    She  reached  St.  Leonard's  Crags 


HF-ABT  OF  lOD-IOIHIAX 


BBC  'S'  Li,* 

9W     ■  -T 

willUHka^2:  I 


_  pnv' 

ML  r  ataC  ^tonm  lo  St.  LefmaatftB 


Hatt  moat 


s^ 


In  i&i&  flKMBsiuk  die  Imlei  iHwilb'*  «i<»^ 
HfC8ta^«  «»  lewf^  i-iiridiMii'  —irrjiB^ 

am  vib^Xeaue  Wi  tartcil  ^m  tint  et«ntfal 

4bt0i9e»at  isfjm  JMameiff'  hmmt,  tAtiH  her  f^OMMf 

a^  m^t    ^e  Ihk;  ]m4  JB  9whe  igj/'  dm  i^.< 
mtmfw  smik  Usm  mm  hmt  fcMI  etumfiamlmt  m  ^ 
tai  ^m:  m0^  sm  I  km:  h&a4  ilm  n^m^smam  w»w  % 
'T^msf  mm  sB  tommfsmamm  m4tst^  Mil  Xeanx:;  "aas,  L 

^bi^  liMMt  ^kam  m  Urn  §t^, 

SHk;  ^ommmtk  her  mt^fA.  stm^Mz^sn  iifif^f/Kmnipj^ — i-.' 
ifii^bi;  ikm  ||i»  tpath/&m.  m  6tfh  rsmk  ^  Hit,  iSimt  tr^    < 
lu«fl|f  itefM  Ms^  a  mrtmAr-mmH  i^mmtMi  i»  wake  a 


ET  m"  Mn^ 


3-  -ksbh: 

iBBB'Pt'  Ji  iriiiiiiiiT  -_»X" 


TTTF      - 


Z3B?  -ams;  flgnr  •nr  sr 


302  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Without  departing  from  filial  reverence,  Jeanie  had  an 
inward  conviction  that  the  feelings  of  her  father,  however 
just,  and  upright,  and  honorable,  were  too  little  in  unison 
with  the  spirit  of  the  time  to  admit  of  his  being  a  good 
judge  of  the  measures  to  be  adopted  in  this  crisis.  Her- 
self more  flexible  in  manner,  though  no  less  upright  in 
principle,  she  felt  that  to  ask  his  consent  to  her  pilgrim- 
age would  be  to  encounter  the  risk  of  drawing  down  his 
positive  prohibition,  and  under  that  she  believed  her  jour- 
ney could  not  be  blessed  in  its  progress  and  event.  Ac- 
cordingly, she  had  determined  upon  the  means  by  which 
she  might  communicate  to  him  her  undertaking  and  its 
purpose,  shortly  after  her  actual  departure.  But  it  was 
impossible  to  apply  to  him  for  money  without  altering 
this  arrangement,  and  discussing  fully  the  propriety  of 
her  journey;  pecuniary  assistance  from  that  quarter, 
therefore,  was  laid  out  of  the  question. 

It  now  occurred  to  Jeanie  that  she  should  have  con- 
sulted with  Mrs.  Saddletree  on  this  subject.  But,  besides 
the  time  that  must  now  necessarily  be  lost  in  recurring 
to  her  assistance,  Jeanie  internally  revolted  from  it.  Her 
heart  acknowledged  the  goodness  of  Mrs.  Saddletree's 
general  character,  and  the  kind  interest  she  took  in  their 
family  misfortunes;  but  still  she  felt  that  Mrs.  Saddletree 
was  a  woman  of  an  ordinary  and  worldly  way  of  thinking, 
incapable,  from  habit  and  temperament,  of  taking  a  keen 
or  enthusiastic  view  of  such  a  resolution  as  she  had 
formed;  and  to  debate  the  point  with  her,  and  to  rely 
upon  her  conviction  of  its  propriety  for  the  means  of 
carrying  it  into  execution,  would  have  been  gall  and 
wormwood. 

Butler,  whose  assistance  she  might  have  been  assured 
of,  was  greatly  poorer  than  herself.  In  these  circum- 
stances, she  formed  a  singular  resolution  for  the  purpose 
of  surmounting  this  difficulty,  the  execution  of  which  will 
form  the  subject  of  the  next  chapter. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  303 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

'Tis  the  voice  of  the  sluggard,   I've  heard  him  complain 
"You   have  waked  me  too  soon,   I   must  slumber  again;" 
As  the  door   on  its  hinges,  so   he  on   his  bed. 
Turns  his  side,  and  his  shoulders,  and  his  heavy  head. 

Dr.   Watts. 

The  mansion-house  of  Dumbicdikes,  to  which  we  are  now 
to  introduce  our  readers,  hiy  three  or  four  miles — no  mat- 
ter for  the  exact  topography — to  the  southward  of  St. 
Leonard's.  It  had  once  borne  the  appearance  of 
some  little  celebrity;  for  the  "auld  laird,"  whose  hu- 
mors and  pranks  were  often  mentioned  in  the  alehouses 
for  about  a  mile  round  it,  wore  a  sword,  kept  a  good  horse, 
and  a  brace  of  greyhounds;  brawled,  swore,  and  betted  at 
cock-fights  and  horse-matches;  followed  Somerville  of 
Drum's  hawks,  and  the  Lord  Ross's  hounds,  and  called 
himself  point  devise  a  gentleman.  But  the  line  had  been 
veiled  of  its  splendor  in  the  present  proprietor,  who  cared 
for  no  rustic  amusements,  and  was  as  saving,  timid,  and 
retired  as  his  father  had  been  at  once  grasping  and 
selfishly  extravagant, — daring,  wild,  and  intrusive. 

Dumbicdikes  was  what  is  called  in  Scotland  a  single 
house;  that  is.  having  only  one  room  occupying  its  whole 
depth  from  back  to  front,  each  of  which  single  apartments 
was  illuminated  by  six  or  eight  cross  lights,  whose  di- 
minutive panes  and  heavy  frames  permitted  scarce  so 
much  light  to  enter  as  shines  through  one  well-constructed 
modem  window.  This  inartificial  edifice,  exactly  such  as 
a  child  would  build  with  cards,  had  a  steep  roof  flagged 
with  coarse  gray  stones  instead  of  slates;  a  half-circular 
turret,  battlemented,  or,  to  use  the  appropriate  phrase, 
bartizan'd  on  the  top,  served  as  a  case  for  a  narrow 
turnpike-stair,  by  which  an  ascent  was  gained  from  story 
to  story;  and  at  the  bottom  of  the  said  turret  was  a 
door  studded  with  large-headed  nails.  There  was  no  lobby 
at  the  bottom  of  the  tower,  and  scarce  a  landing-plare, 
opposite  to  the  doors  which  gave  access  to  the  apartment.^. 
One  or  two  low  and  dilapidated  out-houses,  connected  by 


304  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

a  courtyard  wall  equally  ruinous,  surrounded  the  mansion. 
The  court  had  been  paved,  but  the  flags  being  partly  dis- 
placed, and  partly  renewed,  a  gallant  crop  of  docks  and 
thistles  sprung  up  between  them,  and  the  small  garden, 
which  opened  by  a  postern  through  the  wall,  seemed  not 
to  be  in  a  much  more  orderly  condition.  Over  the  low- 
arched  gateway  M^hich  led  into  the  yard,  there  was  a 
carved  stone,  exhibiting  some  attempt  at  armorial  bear- 
ings; and  above  the  inner  entrance  hung,  and  had  hung 
for  many  years,  the  mouldering  hatchment,  which  an- 
nounced that  umquhile  Laurence  Dumbie,  of  Dumbie- 
dikes,  had  been  gathered  to  his  fathers  in  Newbattle 
kirkyard.  The  approach  to  this  palace  of  pleasure  was 
by  a  road  formed  by  the  rude  fragments  of  stone  gath- 
ered from  the  fields,  and  it  was  surrounded  by  ploughed 
but  unenclosed  land.  Upon  a  baulk,  that  is,  an  unploughed 
ridge  of  land  interposed  among  the  corn,  the  laird's  trusty 
palfrey  was  tethered  by  the  head,  and  picking  a  meal  of 
grass.  The  whole  argued  neglect  and  discomfort;  the 
consequence,  however,  of  idleness  and  indifference,  not 
of  poverty. 

In  this  inner  court,  not  without  a  sense  of  bashfulness 
and  timidity,  stood  Jeanie  Deans,  at  an  early  hour  in  a 
fine  spring  morning.  She  was  no  heroine  of  romance,  and 
therefore  looked  with  some  curiosity  and  interest  on  the 
mansion-house  and  domains,  of  which,  it  might  at  that 
moment  occur  to  her,  a  little  encouragement,  such  as 
women  of  all  ranks  know  by  instinct  how  to  apply,  might 
have  made  her  mistress.  Moreover,  she  was  no  person  of 
taste  beyond  her  time,  rank,  and  country,  and  certainly 
thought  the  house  of  Dumbiedikes,  though  inferior  to 
Holyrood  House,  or  the  palace  at  Dalkeith,  was  still  a 
stately  structure  in  its  way,  and  the  land  a  "very  bonnie 
bit,  if  it  were  better  seen  to  and  done  to."  But  Jeanie 
Deans  was  a  plain,  true-hearted,  honest  girl,  who,  while 
she  acknowledged  all  the  splendor  of  her  old  admirer's 
habitation,  and  the  value  of  his  property,  never  for  a 
moment  harbored  a  thought  of  doing  the  Laird,  Butler, 
or  herself,  the  injustice,  which  many  ladies  of  higher 
rank  would  not  have  hesitated  to  do  to  all  three,  on 
much  less  temptation. 


THE    HEART    OF    .MID-LOTHIAN  305 

Her  present  errand  bein^  with  the  Laird,  she  looked 
round  the  offices  to  see  if  she  could  find  any  domestic  to 
announce  that  she  wished  to  see  him.  As  all  was  silence, 
she  ventured  to  open  one  door; — it  was  the  old  Laird's 
dog-kennel,  now  deserted,  unless  when  occupied,  as  one 
or  two  tubs  seemed  to  testify,  as  a  washing-house.  She 
tried  another — it  was  the  roofless  shed  where  the  hawks 
had  been  once  kept,  as  appeared  from  a  perch  or  two  not 
yet  completely  rotten,  and  a  lure  and  jesses  which  were 
mouldering  on  the  wall.  A  third  door  led  to  the  coal- 
house,  which  was  well  stocked.  To  keep  a  very  good  fire 
was  one  of  the  few  points  of  domestic  management  in 
which  Dumbiedikes  was  positively  active;  in  all  other 
matters  of  -domestic  economy  he  was  completely  passive, 
and  at  the  mercy  of  his  housekeeper,  the  same  buxom 
dame  whom  his  father  had  long  since  bequeathed  to  his 
charge,  and  who,  if  fame  did  her  no  injustice,  had  feath- 
ered her  nest  pretty  well  at  his  expense. 

Jeanie  went  on  opening  doors,  like  the  second  Calender 
wanting  an  eye,  in  the  castle  of  the  hundred  obliging 
damsels,  until,  like  the  said  prince  errant,  she  came  to  a 
stable.  The  Highland  Pegasus,  Rory  Bean,  to  which  be- 
longed the  single  entire  stall,  was  her  old  acquaintance, 
whom  she  had  seen  grazing  on  the  baulk,  as  she  failed 
not  to  recognize  by  the  well-known  ancient  riding  furni- 
ture and  demi-pique  saddle,  which  half  hung  on  the 
walls,  half  trailed  on  the  litter.  Beyond  the  "treviss," 
which  formed  one  side  of  the  stall,  stood  a  cow,  who 
turned  her  head  and  lowed  when  Jeanie  came  into  the 
stable,  an  appeal  which  her  habitual  occupations  enabled 
her  perfectly  to  understand,  and  with  which  she  could  not 
refuse  complying,  by  shaking  down  some  fodder  to  the 
animal,  which  had  boon  nogloctod  like  most  things  else 
in  this  castle  of  the  sluggard. 

While  she  was  accommodating  "the  milky  mother"  with 
the  food  which  she  should  have  received  two  hours  sooner, 
a  slipshod  wench  peeped  into  the  stable,  and  perceiving 
that  a  stranger  was  employed  in  discharging  the  task 
which  she,  at  length,  and  roluctantly,  had  (piittod  her 
slumljors  to  i)erform,  ejaculated,  "Eh,  sirs!  the  Brownie! 


306  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

the  Brownie!"   and  fled,  yelling  as  if  she  had  seen  the 
devil. 

To  explain  her  terror,  it  may  be  necessary  to  notice, 
that  the  old  house  of  Dumbiedikes  had,  according  to  re- 
port, been  long  haunted  by  a  Brownie,  one  of  those  fa- 
miliar spirits  who  were  believed  in  ancient  times  to  sup- 
ply the  deficiencies  of  the  ordinary  laborer — 

"Whirl  the  long  mop,  and  ply  the  airy  flail." 

Certes,  the  convenience  of  such  a  supernatural  assistant 
could  have  been  nowhere  more  sensibly  felt  than  in  a 
family  where  the  domestics  were  so  little  disposed  to 
personal  activity ;  yet  this  serving  maiden  was  so  far  from 
rejoicing  in  seeing  a  supposed  aerial  substitute  discharg- 
ing a  task  which  she  should  have  long  since  performed 
herself,  that  she  proceeded  to  raise  the  family  by  her 
screams  of  horror,  uttered  as  thick  as  if  the  Brownie  had 
been  flaying  her.  Jeanie,  who  had  immediately  resigned 
her  temporary  occupation,  and  followed  the  yelling  dam- 
sel into  the  courtyard,  in  order  to  undeceive  and  appease 
her,  was  there  met  by  Mrs.  Janet  Balchristie,  the  favorite 
sultana  of  the  last  Laird,  as  scandal  went — the  house- 
keeper of  the  present.  The  good-looking  buxom  woman, 
betwixt  forty  and  fifty  (for  such  we  described  her  at  the 
death  of  the  last  Laird),  was  now  a  fat,  red-faced,  old 
dame  of  seventy,  or  thereabouts,  fond  of  her  place,  and 
jealous  of  her  authority.  Conscious  that  her  administra- 
tion did  not  rest  on  so  sure  a  basis  as  in  the  time  of 
the  old  proprietor,  this  considerate  lady  had  introduced 
into  the  family  the  screamer  aforesaid,  who  added  good 
features  and  bright  eyes  to  the  powers  of  her  lungs.  She 
made  no  conquest  of  the  Laird,  however,  who  seemed  to 
live  as  if  there  was  not  another  woman  in  the  world  but 
Jeanie  Deans,  and  to  bear  no  very  ardent  or  overbearing 
affection  even  to  her.  Mrs.  Janet  Balchristie,  notwith- 
standing, had  her  own  uneasy  thoughts  upon  the  almost 
daily  visits  to  St.  Leonard's  Crags,  and  often,  when  the 
Laird  looked  at  her  wistfully  and  paused,  according  to  his 
custom  before  utterance,  she  expected  him  to  say,  "Jenny, 
I  am  gaun  to  change  my  condition" ;  but  she  was  relieved 
by  "Jenny,  I  am  gaun  to  change  my  shoon." 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  307 

Still,  however,  Mrs.  Balchristie  regarded  Jeanie  Deans 
with  no  small  portion  of  malevolence,  the  customary 
feeling  of  such  persons  toward  any  one  who  they  think 
has  the  means  of  doing  them  an  injury.  But  she  had 
also  a  general  aversion  to  any  female,  tolerably  young, 
and  decently  well-looking,  who  showed  a  wish  to  approach 
the  house  of  Dumbiedikes  and  the  proprietor  thereof. 
And  as  she  had  raised  her  mass  of  mortality  out  of  bed 
two  hours  earlier  than  usual,  to  come  to  the  rescue  of 
her  clamorous  niece,  she  was  in  such  extreme  bad  humor 
against  all  and  sundry,  that  Saddletree  would  have  pro- 
nounced that  she  harbored  inimicitian  contra  omnes 
mortahs" 

''Wha  the  deil  are  ye?"  said  the  fat  dame  to  pooi 
Jeanie,  whom  she  did  not  immediately  recognize,  "scoup- 
ing  about  a  decent  house  at  sic  an  hour  in  the  morning?'' 

"It  was  ane  wanting  to  speak  to  the  Laird,"  said 
Jeanie,  who  felt  something  of  the  intuitive  terror  which 
she  had  formerly  entertained  for  this  termagant,  when 
she  was  occasionally  at  Dumbiedikes  on  business  of  her 
father's. 

"Ane  ? — And  what  sort  of  ane  are  ye  ? — hae  ye  nae 
name? — D'ye  think  his  honor  has  naething  else  to  do  than 
to  speak  wi'  ilka  idle  tramper  that  comes  about  the  town, 
and  him  in  his  bed  yet,  honest  man  ?" 

"Dear  Mrs.  Balchristie,"  replied  Jeanie,  in  a  submis- 
sive tone,  "d'ye  no  mind  me? — d'ye  no  mind  Jeanie 
Deans  ?" 

"Jeanie  Deans!"  said  the  termagant,  in  accents  afl^ect- 
ing  the  utmost  astonishment;  then,  taking  two  strides 
nearer  to  her,  she  peered  into  her  face  with  a  stare  of 
curiosity,  equally  scornful  and  malignant — "I  say  Jeanie 
Deans,  indeed — Jeanie  Deevil,  they  had  better  hae  ca'd 
ye! — A  bonny  spot  o'  wark  your  tittie  and  you  hae  made 
out,  njurdoring  ac  puir  wean,  and  your  light  limmer  of 
a  sister's  to  be  hanged  for't,  as  weel  she  deserves! — And 
the  like  o'  you  to  come  to  ony  honest  man's  house,  and 
want  to  be  into  a  decent  bachelor  gentleman's  room  at 
this  time  in  the  morning,  and  him  in  his  bed? — Gae 
wa',  gae  wa'!" 

Jeanie  was  struck  mute  with  shame  at  the  unfeeling 


308  THE    HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

brutality  of  this  accusation,  and  could  not  even  find  words 
to  justify  herself  from  the  vile  construction  put  upon 
her  visit,  when  Mrs.  Balchristie,  seeing  her  advantage, 
continued  in  the  same  tone,  "Come,  come,  bundle  up 
your  pipes  and  tramp  awa  wi'  ye! — ye  may  be  seeking 
a  father  to  another  wean  for  onything  I  ken.  If  it 
warna  that  your  father,  auld  David  Deans,  had  been  a 
tenant  on  our  land,  I  would  cry  up  the  men-folk,  and 
hae  ye  dookit  in  the  burn  for  your  impudence." 

Jeanie  had  already  turned  her  back,  and  was  walking 
toward  the  door  of  the  courtyard,  so  that  Mrs.  Balchristie, 
to  make  her  last  threat  impressively  audible  to  her,  had 
raised  her  stentorian  voice  to  its  utmost  pitch.  But, 
like  many  a  general,  she  lost  the  engagement  by  pressing 
her  advantage  too  far. 

The  Laird  had  been  disturbed  in  his  morning  slumbers 
by  the  tones  of  Mrs.  Balchristie's  objurgation,  sounds  in 
themselves  by  no  means  uncommon,  but  very  remarkable 
in  respect  to  the  early  hour  at  which  they  were  now 
heard.  He  turned  himself  on  the  other  side,  however, 
in  hopes  the  squall  would  blow  by,  when,  in  the  course 
of  Mrs.  Balchristie's  second  explosion  of  wrath,  the  name 
of  Deans  distinctly  struck  the  tympanum  of  his  ear.  As 
he  was,  in  some  degree,  aware  of  the  small  portion  of 
benevolence  with  which  his  housekeeper  regarded  the 
family  at  St.  Leonard's,  he  instantly  conceived  that  some 
message  from  thence  was  the  cause  of  this  untimely  ire, 
and  getting  out  of  his  bed,  he  slipped  as  speedily  as  possi- 
ble into  an  old  brocaded  nightgown,  and  some  other  neces- 
sary integuments,  clapped  on  his  head  his  father's  gold- 
laced  hat  (for  though  he  was  seldom  seen  without  it,  yet  it 
is  proper  to  contradict  the  popular  report,  that  he  slept  in 
it,  as  Don  Quixote  did  in  his  helmet),  and  opening  the 
window  of  his  bedroom,  beheld,  to  his  great  astonishment, 
the  well-known  figure  of  Jeanie  Deans  herself  retreating 
from  his  gate;  while  his  housekeeper,  with  arms  a-kimbo, 
fist  clenched  and  extended,  body  erect,  and  head  shaking 
with  rage,  sent  after  her  a  volley  of  Billingsgate  oaths. 
His  choler  rose  in  proportion  to  the  surprise,  and,  per- 
haps, to  the  disturbance  of  his  repose.  "Hark  ye,"  he  ex- 
claimed from  the  window,  "ye  auld  limb  of  Satan — wha 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  309 

the  dcil  g-ics  you  commission  to  gruide  an  honest  man's 
(laughter  that  gate?'' 

Mrs.  Balchristie  was  completely  caiijrht  in  the  manner. 
She  was  aware,  from  the  unusual  warmth  with  which  the 
Laird  expressed  himself,  that  he  was  quite  serious  in  this 
matter,  and  she  knew  that,  with  all  his  indolence  of  na- 
ture, there  were  points  on  which  he  might  be  provoked, 
and  that,  being-  provoked,  he  had  in  him  something  dan- 
gerous, which  her  wisdom  taught  her  to  fear  accordingly. 
She  began,  therefore,  to  retract  her  false  step  as  fast  as 
she  could.  "She  was  but  speaking  for  the  house's  credit, 
and  she  couldna  tliink  of  disturbing  his  honor  in  the 
morning  sae  early,  when  the  young  woman  might  as 
weel  wait  or  call  again ;  and  to  be  sure,  she  might  make 
a  mistake  between  the  twa  sisters,  for  ane  o'  them  wasna 
sae  creditable  an  acquaintance." 

'"Haud  your  peace,  ye  auld  jade,"  said  Dumbiedikes; 
"the  warst  quean  e'er  stude  in  their  shoon  may  ca'  you 
cousin,  an  a'  be  true  that  I  have  heard. — Jeanie,  my 
woman,  gang  into  the  parlor — but  stay,  that  winna  be 
redd  up  yet — wait  there  a  minute  till  I  come  doun  to  let 
ye  in — Dinna  mind  what  Jenny  says  to  ye." 

''Xa,  na,"  said  Jenny,  with  a  laugh  of  affected  hearti- 
ness, "never  mind  me,  lass — a'  the  warld  kens  my  bark's 
waur  than  my  bite — if  ye  had  had  an  appointment  wi' 
the  Laird,  ye  might  hae  tauld  me — I  am  nae  uncivil 
person — gang  your  ways  in  by,  hinny."  And  she  opened 
the  door  of  the  house  with  a  master-key. 

"But  I  had  no  appointment  wi'  the  Laird,"  said  Jeanie, 
drawing  back;  ''I  want  just  to  speak  twa  words  to  him, 
and  I  wad  rather  do  it  standing  here,  Mrs.  Balchristie." 

'Tn  the  open  courtyard  ? — Xa,  na,  that  wad  never  do, 
lass;  we  maunna  guide  ye  that  gate  neither — And  how's 
that  douce  honest  man,  your  father?'' 

Jeanie  was  saved  the  pain  of  answering  this  hypocrit- 
ical question  by  the  appearance  of  the  Laird  himself. 

''Gang  in  and  get  breakfast  ready,"  said  he  to  his 
housekeeper — "and,  d'ye  hear,  breakfast  wi'  us  yourself — 
ye  ken  how  to  manage  thae  porringers  of  tea-water — and, 
hear  ye,   see   abune   a'    that   there's   a   gude   fire. — Weel, 


310  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

Jeanie,   my   woman,   gang   in  by — gang   in   by,   and   rest 

"x^a,  Laird,"  Jeanie  replied,  endeavoring  as  much  as 
she  could  to  express  herself  with  composure,  notwith- 
standing she  still  trembled,  'T  canna  gang  in — I  have  a 
lang  day's  darg  afore  me — I  maun  be  twenty  mile  o' 
gate  the  night  yet,  if  feet  will  carry  me." 

"Guide  and  deliver  us! — twenty  mile — twenty  mile  on 
your  feet!"  ejaculated  Dumbiedikes,  whose  walks  were  of 
a  very  circumscribed  diameter. — ''Ye  maun  never  think 
o'  that — come  in  by." 

"I  canna  do  that,  Laird,"  replied  Jeanie;  "the  twa 
words  I  hae  to  say  to  ye  I  can  say  here;  forby  that  Mrs. 
Balchristie " 

"The  deil  flee  awa  wi'  Mrs.  Balchristie,"  said  Dumbie- 
dikes, "and  he'll  hae  a  heavy  lading  o'  her!  I  tell  ye, 
Jeanie  Deans,  I  am  a  man  of  few  words,  but  I  am  laird 
at  hame,  as  weel  as  in  the  field;  deil  a  brute  or  body 
about  my  house  but  I  can  manage  when  I  like,  except 
Rory  Bean,  my  powny;  but  I  can  seldom  be  at  the 
plague,  an  it  binna  when  my  bluid's  up." 

"I  was  wanting  to  say  to  ye,  Laird,"  said  Jeanie,  who 
felt  the  necessity  of  entering  upon  her  business,  "that  I 
was  gaun  a  lang  journey,  outby  of  my  father's  knowl- 
edge." 

"Outby  his  knowledge,  Jeanie! — Is  that  right?  Ye 
maun  think  o't  again — it's  no  right,"  said  Dumbiedikes, 
with  a  countenance  of  great  concern. 

"If  I  were  anes  at  Lunnon,"  said  Jeanie,  in  exculpa- 
tion, "I  am  amaist  sure  I  could  get  means  to  speak  to 
the  queen  about  my  sister's  life." 

"Lunnon — and  the  queen — and  her  sister's  life!"  said 
Dumbiedikes,  whistling  for  very  amazement — "the  las- 
sie's  demented." 

"I  am  no  out  o'  my  mind,"  said  she,  "and,  sink  or 
swim,  I  am  determined  to  gang  to  Lunnon,  if  I  suld  beg 
my  way  frae  door  to  door — and  so  I  maun,  unless  ye  wad 
lend  me  a  small  sum  to  pay  my  expenses — little  thing 
will  do  it;  and  ye  ken  my  father's  a  man  of  substance, 
and  wad  see  nae  man,  far  less  you.  Laird,  come  to  loss 
by  me." 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTIllAN  311 

Dumbiedikes,  on  conipreheiidiiii^  the  nature  of  this  ap- 
plication, could  scarce  trust  his  ears — he  made  no  answer 
whatever,  but  stood  with  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  ground. 

*T  see  ye  are  no  for  assisting  me,  Laird,"  said  Jeanie; 
"sae  fair  ye  weel — and  gang  and  see  my  poor  father  as 
aften  as  ye  can — he  will  be  lonely  eneugh  now." 

"Where  is  the  silly  bairn  gaun?"  said  Dumbiedikes; 
and,  laying  hold  of  her  hand,  he  led  her  into  the  house. 
"It's  no  that  I  didna  think  o't  before,"  he  said,  "but  it 
stack  in  my  throat.'' 

Thus  speaking  to  himself,  he  led  her  into  an  old-fash- 
ioned parlor,  shut  the  door  behind  them,  and  fastened  it 
with  a  bolt.  While  Jeanie,  suqirised  at  this  manoeuvre, 
remained  as  near  the  door  as  possible,  the  Laird  quitted 
her  hand,  and  pressed  upon  a  spring  lock  fixed  in  an  oak 
panel  in  the  wainscot,  which  instantly  slipped  aside.  An 
iron  strong-box  was  discovered  in  a  recess  of  the  wall; 
he  opened  this  also,  and,  pulling  out  two  or  three  drawers, 
showed  that  they  were  filled  with  leathern-bags,  full  of 
gold  and  silver  coin. 

"This  is  my  bank,  Jeanie  lass,"  he  said,  looking  first 
at  her,  and  then  at  the  treasure,  with  an  air  of  great 
complacenr-y, — "nane  o'  your  goldsmith's  bills  for  me, — 
they  bring  folk  to  ruin." 

Then,  suddenly  changing  his  tone,  ho  resolutely  said — 
"Jeanie,  I  will  make  ye  Leddy  Dumbiedikes  afore  the 
sun  sets,  and  ye  may  ride  to  Lunnon  in  your  ain  coach, 
if  ye  like." 

"Na,  Laird,"  said  Jeanie,  ''that  can  never  be — my 
father's  grief — my  sister's  situation — the  discredit  to 
you " 

''That's  my  business,"  said  Dumbiedikes;  ''ye  wad  say 
naething  about  that  if  ye  werena  a  fule — and  yet  I  like 
ye  the  better  for't — ae  wise  body's  eneugh  in  the  mar- 
ried state.  But  if  your  heart's  ower  fu',  take  what  siller 
will  serve  ye,  and  let  it  be  when  ye  come  back  again — 
as  gude  syne  as  sune." 

"But,  Laird,"  said  Jeanie,  who  felt  the  necessity  of 
being  explicit  with  so  extraordinary  a  lover,  "I  like  an- 
other man  better  than  you,  and  1  canna  marry  ye." 

"Another  man  better  than  me,  Jeanie?''  said  Dumbie- 


312  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

dikes — "how  is  that  possible? — It's  no  possible,  woman — 
ye  hae  keiid  me  sae  lang." 

"Ay  but,  Laird,"  said  Jeanie,  with  persevering  sim- 
plicity, "I  hae  kend  him  langer." 

"Langer? — It's  no  possible!"  exclaimed  the  poor  Laird. 
"It  canna  be;  ye  were  born  on  the  land.  O  Jeanie, 
woman,  ye  haena  lookit — ye  haena  seen  the  half  o'  the 
gear."  He  drew  out  another  drawer — "A'  gowd,  Jeanie, 
and  there's  bands  for  siller  lent — And  the  rental  book, 
Jeanie — clear  three  hunder  sterling — deil  a  wadset,  heri- 
table band,  or  burden — Ye  haena  lookit  at  them,  woman 
— And  then  my  mother's  wardrobe,  and  my  grandmother's 
forby — silk  gowns  wad  stand  on  their  ends,  pearlin-lace 
as  fine  as  spiders'  webs,  and  rings  and  ear-rings  to  the 
boot  of  a'  that — they  are  a'  in  the  chamber  of  deas — Oh, 
Jeanie,  gang  up  the  stair  and  lock  at  them!" 

But  Jeanie  held  fast  her  integrity,  though  beset  with 
temptations,  which  perhaps  the  Laird  of  Dumbiedikes  did 
not  greatly  err  in  supposing  were  those  most  affecting 
to  her  sex. 

,  "It  canna  be.  Laird — I  have  said  it — and  I  canna  break 
my  word  till  him,  if  ye  wad  gie  me  the  haill  barony  of 
Dalkeith,  and  Lugton  into  the  bargain." 

"Your  word  to  him,"  said  the  Laird,  somewhat  pet- 
tishly; "but  wha  is  he,  Jeanie? — wha  is  he? — I  haena 
heard  his  name  yet — Come  now,  Jeanie,  ye  are  but  queer- 
ing us — I  am  no  trowing  that  there  is  sic  a  ane  in  the 
warld — ye  are  but  making  fashion — What  is  he? — wha 
is  he?" 

"Just  Reuben  Butler,  that's  schulemaster  at  Libber- 
ton,"  said  Jeanie. 

"Reuben  Butler!  Reuben  Butler!"  echoed  the  Laird 
of  Dumbiedikes,  pacing  the  apartment  in  high  disdain, — 
"Reuben  Butler,  the  dominie  at  Libberton — and  a  dominie 
depute  too! — Reuben,  the  son  of  my  cotter! — Very  weel, 
Jeanie  lass,  wilfu'  woman  will  hae  her  way — Reuben 
Butler!  he  hasna  in  his  pouch  the  value  o'  the  auld  black 
coat  he  wears — but  it  disna  signify."  And,  as  he  spoke, 
he  shut  successively,  and  with  vehemence,  the  drawers  of 
his  treasury.  "A  fair  offer,  Jeanie,  is  nae  cause  of  feud 
— Ae  man  may  bring  a  horse  to  the  water,  but  twenty 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  313 

wunna  gar  him  drink — And  as  for  wasting  my  substance 
on  other's  folk's  joes " 

There  was  something  in  the  List  hint  that  nettled 
Jeanie's  honest  pride.  "I  was  begging  nane  frae  your 
hont)r,-'  she  said ;  "least  of  a'  on  sic  a  score  as  ye  pit 
it  on. — (iude  morning  lo  ye,  sir;  ye  hae  been  kind  to 
my  father,  and  it  isna  in  my  heart  to  think  otherwise 
than  kindly  of  you." 

So  saying,  she  left  the  room,  without  listening  to  a  faint 
"But,  Jeanie — Jeanie,  stay  woman !"  and  traversing  the 
courtyard  with  a  quick  step,  she  set  out  on  her  forward 
journey,  her  bosom  glowing  with  that  natural  indignation 
and  shame,  which  an  honest  mind  feels  at  having  sub- 
jected itself  to  ask  a  favor,  which  had  been  unexpectedly 
refused.  When  out  of  the  Laird's  ground,  and  once  more 
upon  the  public  road,  her  pace  slackened,  her  anger 
cooled,  and  anxious  anticipations  of  the  consequence  of 
this  unexpected  disappointment  began  to  influence  her 
with  other  feelings.  Must  she  then  actually  beg  her  way 
to  London?  for  such  seemed  the  alternative;  or  must 
she  turn  back,  and  solicit  her  father  for  money;  and  by 
doing  so  lose  time,  which  was  precious,  besides  the  risk 
of  encountering  his  positive  prohibition  respecting  her 
journey  ?  Yet  she  saw  no  medium  between  these  alter- 
natives; and,  while  she  walked  slowly  on,  was  still  medi- 
tating whether  it  were  not  better  to  return. 

While  she  was  thus  in  an  uncertainty,  she  heard  the 
clatter  of  a  horse's  hoofs,  and  a  well-known  voice  calling 
her  name.  She  looked  round,  and  saw  advancing  toward 
her  on  a  pony,  whose  bare  back  and  halter  assorted  ill 
with  the  nightgown,  slipi)ers,  and  laced  cocked-hat  of  the 
rider,  a  cavalier  of  no  less  importance  than  Dumbiedikes 
himself.  In  the  energy  of  his  i)ursuit,  he  had  overcome 
even  the  Highland  obstinacy  of  Rory  Bean,  and  com- 
pelled that  self-willed  palfrey  to  canter  the  way  his  rider 
chose;  which  Rory,  however,  performed  with  all  the  symj)- 
toms  of  reluctance,  turning  his  head,  and  accompanying 
every  bound  he  made  in  advance  with  a  sidelong  motion, 
which  indicated  his  extreme  wish  to  turn  round, — a 
mana'uvre   which  nothing   but   the   constant   exercise   of 


314  THE   HEART    OE   MID-LOTHIAN 

the  Laird's  heels  and  cudgel  could  possibly  have  coun- 
teracted. 

When  the  Laird  came  up  with  Jeanie,  the  first  words 
he  uttered  were, — "Jeanie,  they  say  ane  shouldna  aye 
take  a  woman  at  her  first  word?" 

"Ay,  but  ye  maun  take  me  at  mine,  Laird,"  said  Jeanie, 
looking  on  the  ground,  and  walking  on  without  a  pause. 
"I  hae  but  ae  word  to  bestow  on  onybody,  and  that's  aye 
a  true  ane." 

"Then,"  said  Dumbiedikes,  "at  least  ye  suldna  aye  take 
a  man  at  his  first  word.  Ye  maunna  gang  this  wilfu' 
gate  sillerless,  come  o't  what  like." — He  put  a  purse  into 
her  hand.  "I  wad  gie  you  Rory  too,  but  he's  as  wilfu' 
as  yoursell  and  he's  ower  weel  used  to  a  gate  that  maybe 
he  and  I  hae  gaen  ower  aften,  and  he'll  gang  nae  road 
else." 

"But,  Laird,"  said  Jeanie,  "though  I  ken  my  father  will 
satisfy  every  penny  of  this  siller,  whatever  there's  o't, 
yet  I  wadna  like  to  borrow  it  frae  ane  that  maybe  thinks 
of  something  mair  than  the  paying  o't  back  again." 

"There's  just  twenty-five  guineas  o't,"  said  Dumbie- 
dikes, with  a  gentle  sigh,  "and  whether  your  father  pays 
or  disna  pay,  I  make  ye  free  till't  without  another  word. 
Gang  where  ye  like — do  what  ye  like — and  marry  a'  the 
Butlers  in  the  country,  gin  ye  like — And  sae,  gude  morn- 
ing to  you,  Jeanie." 

"And  God  bless  you,  Laird,  wi'  mony  a  gude  morning," 
said  Jeanie,  her  heart  more  softened  by  the  unwonted 
generosity  of  this  uncouth  character,  than  perhaps  Butler 
might  have  approved,  had  he  known  her  feelings  at  that 
moment;  "and  comfort,  and  the  Lord's  peace,  and  the 
peace  of  the  world,  be  with  you,  if  we  suld  never  meet 
again!" 

Dumbiedikes  turned  and  waved  his  hand ;  and  his  pony, 
much  more  willing  to  return  than  he  had  been  to  set  out, 
hurried  him  homeward  so  fast,  that,  wanting  the  aid  of 
a  regular  bridle,  as  well  as  of  saddle  and  stirrups,  he  was 
too  much  puzzled  to  keep  his  seat  to  permit  of  his  look- 
ing behind,  even  to  give  the  parting  glance  of  a  forlorn 
swain.  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  that  the  sight  of  a  lover, 
run  away  with  in  nightgown  and  slippers  and  a  laced  hat, 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  315 

by  a  bare-backed  Highland  pony,  had  something  in  it  of 
a  sedative,  even  to  a  grateful  and  deserved  burst  of 
affectionate  esteem.  The  figure  of  Dumbiedikes  was  too 
ludicrous  not  to  confirm  Jeanie  in  the  original  senti- 
ments she  entertained  tx^ward  him. 

'*He's  a  gude  creature,''  said  she,  "and  a  kind — it's  a 
pity  he  has  sae  willyard  a  powny,"  And  she  immediately 
turned  her  thoughts  to  the  important  journey  which  she 
had  commenced,  reflecting  with  pleasure,  that,  according 
to  her  habits  of  life  and  of  undergoing  fatigue,  she  was 
now  amply  or  even  superfluously  provided  with  the  means 
of  encountering  the  expenses  of  the  road,  up  and  down 
from  London,  and  all  other  expenses  whatever. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

What   strange  and   wayward  thoughts  will   slide 

Into  a  lover's  head; 
"O  mercy!"  to  myself  I  cried, 

"If  Lucy  should   be  dead  I" 

Wordsworth. 

In  pursuing  her  solitary  journey,  our  heroine,  soon  after 
passing  the  house  of  Dumbiedikes,  gained  a  little  emi- 
nence, from  which,  on  looking  to  the  eastward  down  a 
prattling  brook,  whose  meanders  were  shaded  with  strag- 
gling willows  and  alder  trees,  she  could  see  the  cottages 
of  Woodend  and  Beersheba,  the  haunts  and  habitation 
of  her  early  life,  and  could  distinguish  the  common  on 
which  she  had  so  often  herded  sheep,  and  the  recesses 
of  the  rivulet  where  she  had  pulled  rushes  with  Butler, 
to  plait  crowns  and  sceptres  for  her  sister  Effie,  then  a 
beautiful  but  spoiled  ohild.  of  about  throe  years  old. 
The  recollections  which  the  scene  brought  with  them  were 
-o  bitter,  thaf,  had  she  indulged  them,  she  would  have 
-ate  down  and  relieved  her  heart  with  tears. 

''But  I  kend,"  said  .Teanie,  when  she  gave  an  account 
of  her  pilgrimage,  "that  greeting  would  do  but  little 
good,  and  that  it  was  mair  beseeming  to  thank  the  Lord, 
that  hnd  showed  me  kindness  and  countenance  by  means 
of  a  man.  that  mony  oa'd   a   Nabal   and   churl,   but  wha 


316  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

was  free  of  his  gudes  to  me  as  ever  the  fountain  was 
free  of  the  stream.  And  I  minded  the  Scripture  about  the 
sin  of  Israel  at  Meribah,  when  the  people  murmured,  al- 
though Moses  had  brought  water  from  the  dry  rock  that 
the  congregation  might  drink  and  live.  Sae,  I  wad  not 
trust  mysell  with  another  look  at  puir  Woodend,  for 
the  very  blue  reek  that  came  out  of  the  lum-head  pat  me 
in  mind  of  the  change  of  market  days  with  us." 

In  this  resigned  and  Christian  temper  she  pursued  her 
journey,  until  she  was  beyond  this  place  of  melancholy 
recollections,  and  not  distant  from  the  village  where 
Butler  dwelt,  which,  with  its  old-fashioned  church  and 
steeple,  rises  among  a  tuft  of  trees,  occupying  the  ridge 
of  an  eminence  to  the  south  of  Edinburgh.  At  a  quarter 
of  a  mile's  distance  is  a  clumsy  square  tower,  the  resi- 
dence of  the  Laird  of  Libberton,  who,  in  former  times, 
with  the  habits  of  the  predatory  chivalry  of  Germany, 
is  said  frequently  to  have  annoyed  the  city  of  Edinburgh, 
by  intercepting  the  supplies  and  merchandise  which  came 
to  the  town  from  the  southward. 

This  village,  its  tower,  and  its  church,  did  not  lie 
precisely  in  Jeanie's  road  toward  England;  but  they  were 
not  much  aside  from  it,  and  the  village  was  the  abode 
of  Butler.  She  had  resolved  to  see  him  in  the  beginning 
of  her  journey,  because  she  conceived  him  the  most 
proper  person  to  write  to  her  father  concerning  her  reso- 
lution and  her  hopes.  There  was  probably  another  reason 
latent  in  her  affectionate  bosom.  She  wished  once  more 
to  see  the  object  of  so  early  and  so  sincere  an  attachment, 
before  commencing  a  pilgrimage,  the  perils  of  which  she 
did  not  disguise  from  herself,  although  she  did  not  allow 
them  so  to  press  upon  her  mind  as  to  diminish  the 
strength  and  energy  of  her  resolution.  A  visit  to  a  lover 
from  a  young  person  in  a  higher  rank  of  life  than 
Jeanie's  would  have  had  something  forward  and  im- 
proper in  its  character.  But  the  simplicity  of  her  rural 
habits  was  unacquainted  with  these  punctilious  ideas  of 
decorum,  and  no  notion,  therefore,  of  impropriety  crossed 
her  imagination,  as,  setting  out  upon  a  long  journey,  she 
went  to  bid  adieu  to  an  early  friend. 

There  was  still  another  motive  that  pressed  upon  her 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  317 

mind  with  additional  force  as  she  approached  the  viUaj^e. 
She  had  looked  anxiously  for  Butler  in  the  court-house, 
and  had  expected  that  certainly,  in  some  part  of  that 
eventful  day,  he  would  have  appeared  to  bring  such  coun- 
tenance and  support  as  he  could  give  to  his  old  friend, 
and  the  protector  of  his  youth,  even  if  her  own  claims 
were  laid  aside.  She  knew,  indeed,  that  he  was  under  a 
certain  degree  of  restraint;  but  she  still  had  hoped  that 
he  would  have  found  means  to  emancipate  himself  from 
it,  at  least  for  one  day.  In  short,  the  wild  and  wayward 
thoughts  which  Wordsworth  has  described  as  rising  in  an 
absent  lover's  imagination  suggested,  as  the  only  explana- 
tion of  his  absence,  that  Butler  must  be  very  ill.  And 
so  much  had  this  wrought  on  her  imagination,  that  when 
she  approached  the  cottage  in  which  her  lover  occupied 
a  small  apartment,  and  which  had  been  pointed  out  to 
her  by  a  maiden  with  a  milk-pail  on  her  head,  she  trem- 
bled at  anticipating  the  answer  she  might  receive  on 
inquiring  for  him. 

Her  fears  in  this  case  had,  indeed,  only  hit  upon  the 
truth.  Butler,  whose  constitution  was  naturally  feeble, 
did  not  soon  recover  the  fatigue  of  body  and  distress  of 
mind  which  he  had  suffered,  in  consequence  of  the  tragical 
events  with  which  our  narrative  commenced.  The  painful 
idea  that  his  character  was  breathed  on  by  suspicion,  was 
an  aggravation  to  his  distress. 

But  the  most  cruel  addition  was  the  absolute  prohibi- 
tion laid  by  the  magistrates  on  his  holding  any  com- 
munication with  Deans  or  his  family.  It  had  unfortu- 
nately appeared  likely  to  them,  that  some  intercourse 
might  be  again  attempted  with  that  family  by  Robertson, 
through  the  mediiim  of  Butlor,  and  this  they  were  anxious 
to  intercept,  or  prevent,  if  possible.  The  measure  was 
not  meant  as  a  harsh  or  injurious  severity  on  the  part  of 
the  m.agistrntes;  but,  in  Butler's  circumstances,  it  pressed 
cruelly  hard.  He  felt  he  must  be  suffering  under  the 
bad  opinion  of  the  person  who  was  dearest  to  him,  from 
an  imputation  of  unkind  desertion,  the  most  alien  to  his 
nature. 

This  painful  thought,  pressing  on  a  frame  already  in- 
jured.   brouLflit    '>n    n    succession    of    slow    nnd    lingering 


318  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

feverish  attacks,  which  greatly  impaired  his  health,  and 
at  length  rendered  him  incapable  even  of  the  sedentary 
duties  of  the  school,  on  which  his  bread  depended.  For- 
tunately, old  Mr.  Whackbaim,  who  was  the  principal 
teacher  of  the  little  parochial  establishment,  was  sin- 
cerely attached  to  Butler.  Besides  that  he  was  sensible 
of  his  merits  and  value  as  an  assistant,  which  had  greatly 
raised  the  credit  of  his  little  school,  the  ancient  peda- 
gogue, who  had  himself  been  tolerably  educated,  retained 
some  taste  for  classical  lore,  and  would  gladly  relax,  after 
the  drudgery  of  the  school  was  past,  by  conning  over  a 
few  pages  of  Horace  or  Juvenal  with  his  usher.  A  simi- 
larity of  taste  begot  kindness,  and  he  accordingly  saw 
Butler's  increasing  debility  with  great  compassion,  roused 
up  his  own  energies  to  teaching  the  school  in  the  morn- 
ing hours,  insisted  upon  his  assistant's  reposing  himself 
at  that  period,  and,  besides,  supplied  him  with  such  com- 
forts as  the  patient's  situation  required,  and  his  means 
were  inadequate  to  compass. 

Such  was  Butler's  situation,  scarce  able  to  drag  him- 
self to  the  place  where  his  daily  drudgery  must  gain  his 
daily  bread,  and  racked  with  a  thousand  fearful  antici- 
pations concerning  the  fate  of  those  who  were  dearest  to 
him  in  the  world,  when  the  trial  and  condemnation  of 
Effie  Deans  put  the  copestone  upon  his  mental  misery. 

He  had  a  particular  account  of  these  events  from  a 
fellow-student  who  resided  in  the  same  village,  and  who, 
having  been  present  on  the  melanchol'y  occasion,  was  able 
to  place  it  in  all  its  agony  of  horrors  before  his  excruci- 
ated imagination.  That  sleep  should  have  visited  his 
eyes,  after  such  a  curfew-note,  was  impossible.  A  thou- 
sand dreadful  visions  haunted  his  imagination  all  night, 
and  in  the  morning  he  was  awaked  from  a  feverish  slum- 
ber by  the  only  circumstance  which  could  have  added  to 
his  distress — the  visit  of  an  intrusive  ass. 

This  unwelcome  visitant  was  no  other  than  Bartoline 
Saddletree.  The  worthy  and  sapient  burgher  had  kept 
his  appointment  at  MacCroskie's,  with  Plumdamas  and 
some  other  neighbors,  to  discuss  the  Duke  of  Argyle's 
speech,  the  justice  of  Effie  Deans's  condemnation,  and 
the  improbability  of  her  obtaining  a  reprieve.     This  sage 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  319 

conclave  disputed  high  and  drank  deep,  and  on  the  next 
morning  BartoliiLe  felt,  as  he  expressed  it,  as  if  his  head 
was  like  a  ''confused  progress  of  writs." 

To  bring  his  reflective  powers  to  their  usual  serenity. 
Saddletree  resolved  to  take  a  morning's  ride  upon  a  cer- 
tain hackney,  which  he,  Plumdamas,  and  another  honest 
shopkeeper,  combined  to  maintain  by  joint  subscription, 
for  occasional  jaunts  for  the  purpose  of  business  or  exer- 
cise. As  Saddletree  had  two  children  boarded  witk 
Whackbairn,  and  was,  as  we  have  seen,  rather  fond  of 
Butler's  society,  he  turned  his  palfrey's  head  toward  Lib- 
berton,  and  came,  as  we  have  already  said,  to  give  the 
unfortunate  usher  that  additional  vexation,  of  which 
Imogen  complains  so  feelingly,  when  she  says, 

'"I'm  sprighted  with  a  fool — 
Sprighted  and  aiiger'd  worse." 

If  anything  could  have  added  gall  to  bitterness,  it  was 
the  choice  which  Saddletree  made  of  a  subject  for  his 
prosing  harangues,  being  the  trial  of  Effie  Deans,  and  the 
probability  of  her  being  executed.  Every  word  fell  on 
Butler's  ear  like  the  knell  of  a  death-bell,  or  the  note  of 
a  screech-owl. 

Jeanie  paused  at  the  door  of  her  lover's  humble  abode 
upon  hearing  the  loud  and  pompous  tones  of  Saddletree 
sounding  from  the  inner  apartment,  "Credit  me,  it  will 
be  sae,  Mr.  Butler.  Brandy  cannot  save  her.  She  maun 
gang  down  the  Bow  wi'  the  lad  in  the  pioted  coat  *  at  her 
heels. — I  am  sorry  for  the  lassie,  but  the  law,  sir,  maun 
hae  its  course — 

'Vivat  Rex. 
Currat  Lex,' 

as  the  poet  has  it,  in  whilk  of  Horace's  odes  I  know  not." 
Here  Butler  groaned,  in  utter  impatience  of  the  bru- 
tality and  ignorance  which  Bartoline  had  contrived  to 
amalgamate  into  one  sontonce.  But  Saddletree,  like  other 
prosers,  was  blessed  with  a  happy  obtuseness  of  perception 

*  The  executioner,  in  a  livery  of  black  or  dark  gray  and  silver, 
likened  by  low  wit  to  a  magpie. 


320  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

concerning-  the  unfavorable  impression  which  he  generally 
made  on  his  auditors.  He  proceeded  to  deal  forth  his 
scraps  of  legal  knowledge  without  mercy,  and  concluded 
by  asking  Butler  with  great  self-complacency,  "Was  it 
na  a  pity  my  father  didna  send  me  to  Utrecht?  Havena 
I  missed  the  chance  to  turn  out  as  clarissimus  an  ictus^ 
as  auld  Grunwiggin  himsell? — Whatfor  dinna  ye  speak, 
Mr.  Butler?  Wad  I  no  hae  been  a  clarissimus  ictus? — 
Eh,  man? 

"I  really  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Saddletree,"  said 
Butler,  thus  pushed  hard  for  an  answer.  His  faint  and 
exhausted  tone  of  voice  was  instantly  drowned  in  the 
sonorous  bray  of  Bartoline. 

"No  understand  me,  man  ? — Ictus  is  Latin  for  a  lawyer, 
is  it  not?" 

"Not  that  ever  I  heard  of,"  answered  Butler,  in  the 
same  dejected  tone. 

"The  deil  ye  didna ! — See,  man,  I  got  the  worcj  but  this 
morning  out  of  a  memorial  of  Mr.  Crossmyloof's — see, 
there  it  is,  ictus  clarissimus  et  perti — peritissimus — it's 
a'  Latin,  for  it's  printed  in  the  Italian  types." 

"Oh,  you  mean  juris- consult  us — Ictus  is  an  abbrevia- 
tion for  j uris-consultus." 

"Dinna  tell  me,  man,"  persevered  Saddletree,  "there's 
nae  abbreviates  except  in  adjudications;  and  this  is  a' 
about  a  servitude  of  water-drap — that  is  to  say,  tillicid- 
ian*  (maybe  ye'll  says  that's  no  Latin  neither),  in  Mary 
King's  Close  in  the  High  Street." 

"Very  likely,"  said  poor  Butler,  overwhelmed  by  the 
noisy  perseverance  of  his  visitor.  "I  am  not  able  to  dis- 
pute with  you." 

"Few  folk  are — few  folk  are,  Mr.  Butler,  though  I  say 
it,  that  shouldna  say  it,"  returned  Bartoline,  with  great 
delight.  "Now,  it  will  be  twa  hours  yet  or  ye're  wanted 
in  the  schule,  and  as  ye  are  no  weel,  I'll  sit  wi  you  to 
divert  ye,  and  explain  t'ye  the  nature  of  a  tillicidian.  Ye 
maun  ken,  the  petitioner,  Mrs.  Crombie,  a  very  decent 
woman,  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  I  hae  stude  her  friend 
in  this  case,  and  brought  her  wi'  credit  into  the  court, 

*  He    meant,    probably,    stillicidium. 


THE   HEART    OF    MlD-LOTHlAN  321 

and  I  doubtna  that  in  due  time  she  will  win  out  o't  wi' 
credit,  win  she  or  lose  she.  Ye  see,  being  an  inferio;- 
tenement  or  laijrh  house,  we  grant  ourselves  to  be  bu. 
dened  wi'  the  tilUcidv,  that  is,  that  we  are  obliged  to  re 
ceive  the  natural  water-drap  of  the  superior  tenemeni, 
sae  far  as  the  same  fa's  frae  the  heavens,  or  the  roof  of 
our  neighbor's  house,  and  from  thence  by  the  gutters  or 
eaves  upon  our  laigh  tenement.  But  the  other  night 
comes  a  Highland  quean  of  a  lass,  and  she  flashes,  God 
kens  what,  out  at  the  eastmost  window  of  Mrs.  Mac- 
Phail's  house,  that's  the  superior  tenement.  I  believe  the 
auld  women  wad  hae  greed,  for  Luckie  MacPhail  sent 
do\\Ti  the  lass  to  tell  my  friend  Mrs.  Crombie  that  she 
had  made  the  gardyloo  out  of  the  wrang  window,  out  of 
respect  for  twa  Highlandmen  that  were  speaking  Gaelic 
in  the  close  below  the  right  ane.  But  luckily  for  ^Irs. 
Crombie,  I  just  chanced  to  come  in  in  time  to  break  aif 
the  communing,  for  it's  a  pity  the  point  suldna  be  tried. 
We  had  Mrs.  MacPhail  into  the  Ten-Mark  Court — The 
Hieland  limmer  of  a  lass  wanted  to  swear  herself  free — 
but  baud  ye  there,  says  I " 

The  detailed  account  of  this  important  suit  might  have 
lasted  until  poor  Butler's  hour  of  rest  was  completely 
exhausted,  had  not  Saddletree  been  interrupted  by  the 
noise  of  voices  at  the  door.  The  woman  of  the  house 
where  Butler  lodged,  on  returning  with  her  pitcher  from 
the  well,  whence  she  had  been  fetching  water  for  the 
family,  found  our  heroine  Jeanie  Deans  standing  at  the 
door,  impatient  of  the  prolix  harangue  of  Saddletree,  yet 
unwilling  to  enter  until  he  should  have  taken  his  leave. 

The  good  woman  abridged  the  ])oriod  of  hesitation  by 
in{piiring,  "Was  ye  wanting  the  gudeman  or  me,  lass?" 

"I  wanted  to  speak  with  Mr.  Butler,  if  he's  at  leisure," 
replied   Jeanie. 

"Clang  in  by  then,  my  woman,"  answered  the  goodwife; 
and  opening  the  door  of  a  room,  she  announced  the  ad- 
ditional visitor  with,  "Mr.  Butler,  here's  a  lass  wants  to 
speak  t'ye." 

The  surprise  of  Butler  was  extreme,  when  Jeanie,  who 
seldom  stirred  half  a  mile  from  home,  entered  his  apart- 
ment upon  this  annunciation. 


322  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

"Good  God!"  lie  said,  starting  from  his  chair,  while 
alarm  restored  to  his  cheek  the  color  of  which  sickness 
had  deprived  it ;  "some  new  misfortune  must  have  hap- 
pened !" 

"None,  Mr.  Reuhen,  but  what  you  must  hae  heard  of — 
but  oh,  ye  are  looking  ill  yoursell!" — for  "the  hectic  of 
a  moment"  had  not  concealed  from  her  affectionate  eye 
the  ravages  which  lingering  disease  and  anxiety  of  mind 
had  made  in  her  lover's  person. 

'"No;  I  am  well — quite  well,"  said  Butler,  with  eager- 
ness; "if  I  can  do  anything  to  assist  you,  Jeanie — or  your 
father.'' 

"Ay,  to  be  sure,"  said  Saddletree;  "the  family  may  be 
considered  as  limited  to  them  twa  now,  just  as  if  Effie 
had  never  been  in  the  tailzie,  puir  thing.  But,  Jeanie 
lass,  what  brings  you  out  to  Libberton  sae  air  in  the 
morning,  and  your  father  lying  ill  in  the  Luckenbooths  ?" 

"I  had  a  message  frae  my  father  to  Mr.  Butler,"  said 
Jeanie,  with  embarrassment;  but  instantly  feeling 
ashamed  of  the  fiction  to  which  she  had  resorted,  for  her 
love  of  and  veneration  for  truth  was  almost  Quaker-like, 
she  corrected  herself — "That  is  to  say,  I  wanted  to  speak 
with  Mr.  Butler  about  some  business  of  my  father's  and 
puir  Effie's." 

"Is  it  law  business?"  said  Bartoline;  "because  if  it  be, 
ye  had  better  take  my  opinion  on  the  subject  than  his." 

"It  is  not  just  law  business,"  said  Jeanie,  who  saw 
considerable  inconvenience  might  arise  from  letting  Mr. 
Saddletree  into  the  secret  purpose  of  her  journey;  "but  I 
want  Mr.  Butler  to  write  a  letter  for  me." 

"Very  right,"  said  Mr.  Saddletree;  "and  if  ye'll  tell  me 
what  it  is  about,  I'll  dictate  to  Mr.  Butler  as  Mr.  Cross- 
myloof  does  to  his  clerk. — Get  your  pen  and  ink  in  initial- 
ihus,  Mr.  Butler." 

Jeanie  looked  at  Butler,  and  wrung  her  hands  with 
vexation  and  impatience. 

"I  believe,  Mr.  Saddletree,"  said  Butler,  who  saw  the 
necessity  of  getting  rid  of  him.  at  all  events,  "that  Mr, 
Whackbairn  will  be  somewhat  affronted,  if  you  do  not 
hear  your  boys  called  up  to  their  lessons." 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Butler,  and  that's  as  true;  and  I  promised 


TJIK    IIKAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  323 

to  ask  a  half  play-day  to  the  schiile,  so  that  the  bairns 
might  panjr  and  soe  the  hanpfinp:,  which  canna  but  have  a 
pleasing  ellect  on  their  young  minds,  seeing  there  is  no 
knowing  what  they  may  come  to  themselves. — Odd  so,  I 
didna  mind  ye  were  here,  Jeanie  Deans;  but  ye  maun 
use  yoursell  to  hear  the  matter  spoken  o'. — Keep  Jeanie 
here  till  I  come  back,  Mr.  Butler;  I  wunna  bide  ten 
minutes.'' 

And  with  this  unwelcome  assurance  of  an  immediate 
return,  he  relieved  them  of  the  embarrassment  of  his 
presence. 

"Keuben,"  said  Jeanie,  who  saw  the  necessity  of  using 
the  interval  of  his  absence  in  discussing  what  had  brought 
her  there,  ''I  am  bound  on  a  lang  journey — I  am  gaun  to 
Lunnon  to  ask  Effie's  life  of  the  king  and  of  the  queen." 

"Jeanie!  you  are  surely  not  yourself,"  answered  But- 
ler, in  the  utmost  surprise;  "you  go  to  London — you  ad- 
dress the  king  and  queen !" 

"And  what  for  no,  Reuben?"  said  Jeanie,  with  all  the 
composed  simplicity  of  her  character;  "it's  but  speaking 
to  a  mortal  man  and  woman  when  a'  is  done.  And  their 
hearts  maun  be  made  o'  flesh  and  blood  like  other  folk's, 
and  Effie's  story  wad  melt  them  were  they  stane.  Forby, 
I  hae  heard  that  they  are  no  sic  bad  folk  as  what  the 
Jacobites  ca'  them." 

"Yes,  Jeanie,"  said  Butler;  "but  their  magnificence — 
their  retinue — the  difficulty  of  getting  audience?" 

"I  have  thought  of  a'  that,  Reuben,  and  it  shall  not 
break  my  spirit.  Nae  doubt  their  claiths  .will  be  very 
grand,  wi'  their  crowns  on  their  heads,  and  their  sceptres 
in  their  hands,  like  the  great  King  Ahasuerus  when  he 
sate  upon  his  royal  throne  foranent  the  gate  of  his  house, 
as  we  are  told  in  Scripture.  But  I  have  that  within  me 
that  will  keep  my  heart  from  failing,  and  I  am  amaist 
sure  that  I  will  be  strengthened  to  speak  the  errand  I 
came  for." 

"Alas!  alas!"  said  Butler,  "the  kings  nowadays  do  not 
sit  in  the  gate  to  administer  justice,  as  in  patriarchal 
times.  I  know  as  little  of  courts  as  you  do,  Jeanie,  by 
experience;  but  by  reading  and  report  I  know,  that  tlie 


324  THE    IIEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAISF 

King  of  Britain  does  everything  by  means  of  his  min- 
isters.'' 

''And  if  they  be  upright,  God-fearing  ministers,"  said 
Jeanie,  "it's  sae  muckle  the  better  chance  for  Effie  and 
me." 

"But  you  do  not  even  understand  the  most  ordinary 
words  relating  to  a  court,"  said  Butler;  "by  the  ministry 
is  meant  not  clergymen,  but  the  king's  official  servants." 

"Nae  doubt,"  returned  Jeanie,  "he  maun  hae  a  great 
number  mair,  I  daur  to  say,  than  the  Duchess  has  at 
Dalkeith,  and  great  folk's  servants  are  aye  mair  saucy 
than  themselves.  But  I'll  be  decently  put  on,  and  I'll 
oifer  them  a  trifle  o'  siller,  as  if  I  came  to  see  the  palace. 
Or,  if  they  scruple  that,  I'll  tell  them  I'm  come  on  a 
business  of  life  and  death,  and  then  they  will  surely 
bring  me  to  speech  of  the  king  and  queen?" 

Butler  shook  his  head.  "O  Jeanie,  this  is  entirely  a 
wild  dream.  You  can  never  see  them  but  through  some 
great  lord's  intercession,  and  I  think  it  is  scarce  possible 
even  then." 

"Weel,  but  maybe  I  can  get  that  too/'  said  Jeanie, 
"with  a  little  helping  from  you." 

"Erom  me,  Jeanie !  this  is  the  wildest  imagination  of  all." 

"Ay,  but  it  is  not,  Reuben.  Havena  I  heard  you  say, 
that  your  grandfather  (that  my  father  never  likes  to 
hear  about)  did  some  gude  langsyne  to  the  forebear  of 
this  MacCallummore,  when  he  was  Lord  of  Lorn?" 

"He  did  so,"  said  Butler  eagerly,  "and  I  can  prove  it. 
— ^I  will  write  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle — report  speaks  him 
a  good  kindly  man,  as  he  is  known  for  a  brave  soldier 
and  true  patriot — I  will  conjure  him  to  stand  between 
your  sister  and  this  cruel  fate.  There  is  but  a  poor 
chance  of  success,  but  we  will  try  all  means." 

"We  must  try  all  means,"  replied  Jeanie;  "but  writing 
winna  do  it — a  letter  canna  look,  and  pray,  and  beg,  and 
beseech,  as  the  human  voice  can  do  to  the  human  heart. 
A  letter's  like  the  music  that  the  ladies  have  for  their 
spinets — naething  but  black  scores,  compared  to  the  same 
tune  played  or  sung.  It's  word  of  mouth  maun  do  it,  or 
naething,  Reuben." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Reuben,  recollecting  his  firmness* 


THE   HEART    OF    :\riD-LOTirTAN  325  I 

''and  I  will  hope  that  Heaven  has  suggested  to  your  kind  ' 
heart  and  firm  courage  the  only  possible  means  of  saving  ] 
the  life  of  this  unfortunate  girl.     But,  Jeanie,  you  must  '■ 
not  take  this  most  perilous  journey  alone;  I  have  an  in- 
terest in  you,  and  I  will  not  agree  that  my  Jeanie  throws  ! 
herself   away.     You   must  even,   in  the  present   circum-  j 
stances,  give  me  a  husband's  right  to  protect  you,  and  I 
will  go  with  you  myself  on  this  journey,  and  assist  you 
to  do  your  duty  by  your  family."  I 

'"Alas,  Reuben!"   said  Jeanie  in  her  turn,   "this  must  \ 

not  be;  a  pardon  will  not  gie  my  sister  her  fair  fame  ; 

again,  or  make  me  a  bride  fitting  for  an  honest  man  and  i 
a  usefu'  minister.     Wha  wad  mind  what  he  said  in  the 

pu'pit,  that  had  to  wife  the  sister  of  a  woman  that  was  i 

condemned  for  sic  wickedness !"  | 

"But,   Jeanie,"   pleaded   her  lover,    "I   do   not   believe,  i 

and  I  cannot  believe,  that  Effie  has  done  this  deed."  i 

"Heaven  bless  you  for  saying  sae,  Reuben!"  answered  ! 
Jeanie;  "but  she  maun  bear  the  blame  o't,  after  all." 

"But  that  blame,  were  it  even  justly  laid  on  her,  does  ■ 

not  fall  on  you?"  I 

"Ah,  Reuben,  Reuben,"  replied  the  young  woman,  "ye  ^ 

ken  it  is  a  blot  that  spreads  to  kith  and  kin. — Ichabod —  | 

as  my  poor  father  says — the  glory  is  departed  from  our  | 
house;  for  the  poorest  man's  house  has   a  glory,  where 
there  are  true  hands,  a  divine  heart,  and  an  honest  fame 
— And  the  last  has  gane  frae  us  a'." 

"But,   Jeanie,   consider  your  word   and  plighted   faith 

to  me;  and  would  ye  undertake  such  a  journey  without  a  ' 

man  to  protect  you? — and  who  should  that  protector  bf  i 

but  your  husband  ?"  I 

"You  are  kind  and  good,  Reuben,  and  wad  tak  me  wi'  i 

a'  my  shame,  I  doubtna.    But  ye  canna  but  own  that  this  j 

is  no  time  to  marry  or  be  given  in  marriage.     Na,  if  that  | 

suld  ever  be,  it  maun  be  in  another  and  a  bettor  season.  | 
— And,  dear  Reuben,  ye  speak  of  protecting  me  on   my 
journey — Alas!  who  will  protect  and  take  care  of  you? — 
your  very  limbs  tremble  with   standing  for  ton   minutes 

on  the  floor;  how  could  you  undertake  a  journey  as  far  ' 
as  Lunnon  ?" 

"But  I  am  strong — I  am  well,"  continuod  Butler,  sink-  1 


326  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

ing  in  his  seat  totally  exhausted,  "at  least  I  shall  be  quite 
well  to-morrow." 

"Ye  see,  and  ye  ken,  ye  maun  just  let  me  depart,"  said 
Jeanie,  after  a  pause;  and  then  taking  his  extended  hand, 
and  gazing  kindly  in  his  face,  she  added,  "It's  e'en  a 
grief  the  mair  to  me  to  see  you  in  this  way.  But  ye 
maun  keep  up  your  heart  for  Jeanie's  sake,  for  if  she 
isna  your  wife,  she  will  never  be  the  wife  of  living  man. 
And  now  gie  me  the  paper  for  MacCallummore,  and  bid 
God  speed  me  on  my  way." 

There  was  something  of  romance  in  Jeanie's  venturous 
resolution;  yet,  on  consideration,  as  it  seemed  impossible 
to  alter  it  by  persuasion,  or  to  give  her  assistance  but  by 
advice,  Butler,  after  some  farther  debate,  put  into  her 
hands  the  paper  she  desired,  which,  with  the  muster-roll 
in  which  it  was  folded  up,  were  the  sole  memorials  of  the 
stout  and  enthusiastic  Bible  Butler,  his  grandfather. 
While  Butler  sought  this  document,  Jeanie  had  time  to 
take  up  his  pocket  Bible.  "I  have  marked  a  scripture," 
she  said,  as  she  again  laid  it  down,  "with  your  kylevine 
pen,  that  will  be  useful  to  us  baith.  And  ye  maun  tak 
the  trouble,  Reuben,  to  write  a'  this  to  my  father,  for, 
God  help  me,  I  have  neither  head  nor  hand  for  lang  let- 
ters at  ony  time,  forby  now;  and  I  trust  him  entirely  to 
you,  and  I  trust  you  will  soon  be  permitted  to  see  him. 
And,  Reuben,  when  ye  do  win  to  the  speech  o'  him,  mind 
a'  the  auld  man's  bits  o'  ways,  for  Jeanie's  sake;  and 
dinna  speak  o'  Latin  or  English  terms  to  him,  for  he's  o' 
the  auld  warld,  and  downa  bide  to  be  fashed  wi'  them, 
though  I  dare  say  he  may  be  wrang.  And  dinna  ye  say 
muckle  to  him,  but  set  him  on  speaking  himsell,  for  he'll 
bring  himsell  mair  comfort  that  way.  And  oh,  Reuben, 
the  poor  lassie  in  yon  dungeon! — but  I  needna  bid  your 
kind  heart — gie  her  what  comfort  ye  can  as  soon  as  they 
will  let  ye  see  her — tell  her — But  I  maunna  speak  mair 
about  her,  for  I  maunna  take  leave  o'  ye  wi'  the  tear  in 
my  ee,  for  that  wadna  be  canny. — God  bless  ye,  Reuben !" 

To  avoid  so  ill  an  omen  she  left  the  room  hastily,  while 
her  features  yet  retained  the  mournful  and  affectionate 
smile  which  she  had  compelled  them  to  wear,  in  order  to 
support  Butler's  spirits. 


THE   UEAKT    UE    MlD-LUTlilAN  327 

It  seemed  as  if  the  i^owor  of  si^lit,  of  speech,  and  of 
retleetion,  had  left  him  as  she  disappeared  from  the  room, 
which  she  had  entered  and  retired  from  so  like  an  appa- 
rition. Saddletree,  who  entered  immediately  afterward, 
overwhelmed  him  with  questions,  which  he  answered 
without  understanding  them,  and  with  legal  disquisitions, 
which  conveyed  to  him  no  iota  of  meaning.  At  length 
the  learned  burgess  recollected  that  there  was  a  Baron 
Court  to  be  held  at  Loanhead  that  day,  and  though  it 
was  hardly  worth  while,  ''he  might  as  weel  go  to  see  if 
there  was  onything  doing,  as  he  was  acquainted  with  the 
baron-bailie,  who  was  a  decent  man,  and  would  be  glad 
of  a  word  of  legal  advice." 

As  soon  as  he  departed,  Butler  flew  to  the  Bible,  the 
last  book  which  Jeanie  had  touched.  To  his  extreme 
surprise,  a  paper,  containing  two  or  three  pieces  of  gold, 
dropped  from  the  book.  With  a  black-lead  pencil,  she 
had  marked  the  sixteenth  and  twenty-fifth  verses  of  the 
thirty-seventh  Psalm, — ''A  little  that  a  righteous  man 
hath,  is  better  than  the  riches  of  the  wicked." — "I  have 
been  young  and  am  now  old,  yet  have  I  not  seen  the 
righteous  forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging  their  bread." 

Deeply  impressed  with  the  affectionate  delicacy  which 
shrouded  its  own  generosity  under  the  cover  of  a  provi- 
dential supply  to  his  wants,  he  pressed  the  gold  to  his  lips 
with  more  ardor  than  ever  the  metal  wsfs  greeted  with  by 
a  miser.  To  emulate  her  devout  firmness  and  confidence 
seemed  now  the  pitch  of  his  ambition,  and  his  first  task 
was  to  write  an  account  to  David  Deans  of  his  daugh- 
ter's resolution  and  journey  southward.  He  studied  every 
sentiment,  and  even  every  phrase,  which  he  thought  could 
reconcile  the  old  man  to  her  extraordinary  resolution. 
The  effect  which  this  epistle  produced  will  be  hereafter 
adverted  to.  Butler  committed  it  to  the  charge  of  an 
honest  clown,  who  had  frequent  dealings  with  Deans  in 
the  sale  of  his  dairy  produce,  and  who  readily  undertook 
a  journey  to  Edinburgh,  to  put  the  letter  into  his  own 
hands.* 

*  By  dint  of  assiduous  research  I  am  enabled  to  certiorate  the  reader, 
that  the  name  of  this  person  was  Saunders  Broadfoot,  and  that  he 
dealt  in  the  wholesome  commodity  called  kirn-milk  {Anglic^,  butter- 
milk).—J.   C. 


328  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTEK   XXVIII 

"My  native  land,  good  night!" 

Lord  Byron. 

In  the  present  day,  a  journey  from  Edinburgh  to  London 
is  a  matter  at  once  safe,  brief,  and  simple,  however 
inexperienced  or  unprotected  the  traveller.  Numer- 
ous coaches  of  different  rates  of  charge,  and  as  many 
packets,  are  perpetually  passing  and  repassing  be- 
twixt the  capital  of  Britain  and  her  northern  sister,  so 
that  the  most  timid  or  indolent  may  execute  such  a  jour- 
ney upon  a  few  hours'  notice.  But  it  was  different  in 
1737.  So  slight  and  infrequent  was  then  the  intercourse 
betwixt  London  and  Edinburgh,  that  men  still  alive  re- 
member that  upon  one  occasion  the  mail  from  the  former 
city  arrived  at  the  General  Post-Office  in  Scotland  with 
only  one  letter  in  it.*  The  usual  mode  of  travelling  was 
by  means  of  post-horses,  the  traveller  occupying  one  and 
his  guide  another,  in  which  manner,  by  relays  of  horses 
from  stage  to  stage,  the  journey  might  be  accomplished  in 
a  wonderfully  short  time  by  those  who  could  endure  fa- 
tigue. To  have  the  bones  shaken  to  pieces  by  a  constant 
change  of  those  hacks  was  a  luxury  for  the  rich — the  poor 
were  under  the  necessity  of  using  the  mode  of  conveyance 
with  which  nature  had  provided  them. 

With  a  strong  heart,  and  a  frame  patient  of  fatigue, 
Jeanie  Deans,  travelling  at  the  rate  of  twenty  miles  a 
day,  and  sometimes  farther,  traversed  the  southern  part 
of  Scotland,  and  advanced  as  far  as  Durham. 

Hitherto  she  had  been  either  among  her  own  country- 
folk, or  those  to  whom  her  bare  feet  and  ^tartan  screen 
were  objects  too  familiar  to  attract  much  attention.  But 
as  she  advanced,  she  perceived  that  both  circumstances 
exposed  her  to  sarcasm  and  taunts,  which  she  might 
otherwise  have  escaped;  and  although  in  her  heart  she 
thought  it  unkind,  and  inhospitable,  to  sneer  at  a  passing 
stranger  on  account  of  the  fashion  of  her  attire,  yet  she 

*  The  fact  is  certain.  The  single  epistle  was  addressed  to  the  principal 
director  of  the  British   Linen   Company. 


THE   HEART    OE    MID-L0TH1A\  329 

had  the  good  sense  to  alter  those  parts  of  her  dress  which 
attracted  ill-natured  observation.  Her  checked  screen 
was  deposited  carefully  in  her  bundle,  and  she  conformed 
to  the  national  extravagance  of  wearing  shoes  and  stock- 
ings for  the  whole  day.  She  confessed  afterward,  that, 
''besides  the  wastrife,  it  was  lang  or  she  could  walk  sae 
comfortably  with  the  shoes  as  without  them;  but  there 
was  often  a  bit  saft  heather  by  the  road-side,  and  that 
helped  her  weel  on."  The  want  of  the  screen,  which  was 
drawn  over  the  head  like  a  veil,  she  supplied  by  a  hon- 
grace,  as  she  called  it ;  a  large  straw  bonnet,  like  those 
worn  by  the  English  maidens  when  laboring  in  the  fields. 
"But  I  thought  unco  shame  o'  mysell,"  she  said,  "the  first 
time  I  put  on  a  married  woman's  hon-grace,  and  me  a 
single  maiden." 

With  these  changes  she  had  little,  as  she  said,  to  make 
"her  kenspeckle  when  she  didna  speak,"  but  her  accent 
and  language  drew  down  on  her  so  many  jests  and  gibes, 
couched  in  a  worse  patois  by  far  than  her  own,  that  she 
soon  found  it  was  her  interest  to  talk  as  little  and  as 
seldom  as  possible.  She  answered,  therefore,  civil  salu- 
tations of  chance  passengers  with  a  civil  courtesy,  and 
chose,  with  anxious  circumspection,  such  places  of  re- 
pose as  looked  at  once  most  decent  and  sequestered.  She 
found  the  common  people  of  England,  although  inferior 
in  courtesy  to  strangers,  such  as  was  then  practised  in 
her  own  more  unfrequented  country,  yet,  upon  the  whole, 
by  no  means  deficient  in  the  real  duties  of  hospitality. 
She  readily  obtained  food,  and  shelter,  and  protection  at 
a  very  moderate  rate,  which  sometimes  the  generosity  of 
mine  host  altogether  declined,  with  a  blunt  apology, — 
"Thee  hast  a  lang  way  afore  thee,  lass;  and  I'se  n'er  tak  > 
penny  out  o'  a  single  woman's  purse;  it's  the  best  friend 
thou  can  have  on   the  road." 

It  often  happened,  too,  that  mine  hostess  was  struck 
with  "the  tidy,  nice  Scotch  body,"  and  procured  her  an 
escort,  or  a  cast  in  a  wagon,  for  some  part  of  the  way,  or 
gave   her  useful   advice  and   recommendation   respectin 
her  resting-places. 

At  York  our  pilgrim  stopped  for  the  best  part  of  a  day, 
— partly  to  recruit  her  strength, — partly  because  she  had 


330  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

the  good  luck  to  obtain  a  lodging  in  an  inn  kept  by  a 
country-woman, — partly  to  indite  two  letters  to  her  father 
and  Eeuben  Butler;  an  operation  of  some  little  difficulty, 
her  habits  being  by  no  means  those  of  literary  composi- 
tion.    That  to  her  father  was  in  the  following  words: — 

"Dearest  Father, — I  make  my  present  pilgrimage 
more  heavy  and  burdensome,  through  the  sad  occasion  to 
reflect  that  it  is  without  your  knowledge,  which,  God 
knows,  was  far  contrary  to  my  heart;  for  Scripture  says, 
that  'the  vow  of  the  daughter  should  not  be  binding  with- 
out the  consent  of  the  father,'  wherein  it  may  be  I  have 
been  guilty  to  tak  this  wearie  journey  without  your  con- 
sent. Nevertheless,  it  w^as  borne  in  upon  my  mind  that 
I  should  be  an  instrument  to  help  my  poor  sister  in  this 
extremity  of  needcessity,  otherwise  I  wad  not,  for  wealth 
or  for  world's  gear,  or  for  the  ha  ill  lands  of  Da'keith  and 
Lugton,  have  done  the  like  o'  this,  without  your  free  will 
and  knowledge.  Oh,  dear  father,  as  ye  wad  desire  a  bless- 
ing on  my  journey,  and  upon  your  household,  speak  a 
word  or  write  a  line  of  comfort  to  yon  poor  prisoner.  If 
she  has  sinned,  she  has  sorrowed  and  suffered,  and  ye 
ken  better  than  me,  that  we  maun  forgie  others,  as  we 
pray  to  be  forgien.  Dear  father,  forgive  my  saying  this 
muckle,  for  it  doth  not  become  a  young  head  to  instruct 
grey  hairs;  but  I  am  sae  far  frae  ye,  that  my  heart 
yearns  to  ye  a',  and  fain  wad  I  hear  that  ye  had  forgien 
her  trespass,  and  sae  I  nae  doubt  say  mair  than  may  be- 
come me.  The  folk  here  are  civil,  and,  like  the  barbarians 
unto  the  holy  apostle,  hae  shown  me  much  kindness;  and 
there  are  a  sort  of  chosen  people  in  the  land,  for  they 
hae  some  kirks  without  organs  that  are  like  ours,  and  are 
called  meeting-houses,  where  the  minister  preaches  with- 
out a  gown.  But  most  of  the  country  are  prelatists,  whilk 
is  awfu'  to  think;  and  I  saw  twa  men  that  were  ministers 
following  hunds,  as  bauld  as  Roslin  or  Driden,  the  young 
Laird  of  Loup-the-dike,  or  ony  wild  gallant  in  Lothian. 
A  sorrowfu'  sight  to  behold !  Oh,  dear  father,  may  a 
blessing  be  with  your  down-lying  and  up-rising,  and  re- 
member in  your  prayers  your  affectionate  daughter  to 
command,  Jean  Deans."" 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  331 

A  postscript  bore,  ''I  learned  from  a  decent  woman,  a 
grazier's  widow,  that  they  hae  a  cure  for  the  muir-ill  in 
Cumberland,  whilk  is  ane  pint,  as  they  ca't,  of  yill,  whilk 
is  a  dribble  in  comparison  of  our  gawsie  Scots  pint,  and 
hardly  a  mutchkin,  boil'd  wi'  sope  and  hartshorn  draps, 
and  toomed  doun  the  creature's  throat  wi'  ane  whom.  Ye 
might  try  it  on  the  bauson-faced  year-auld  quey;  an  it 
does  nae  gude,  it  can  do'  nae  ill. — She  was  a  kind  woman, 
and  seemed  skeely  about  horned  beasts.  When  I  reacli 
Lunnon,  I  intend  to  gang  to  our  cousin  Mistress  Glass, 
the  tobacconist,  at  the  sign  o'  the  Thistle,  wha  is  so  ceevil 
as  to  send  you  down  your  spleuchanfu'  anes  a  year;  -^n*! 
as  she  must  be  weel  kend  in  Lunnon,  I  doubt  not  easily 
to  find  out  where  she  lives." 

Being  seduced  into  betraying  our  heroine's  confidence 
thus  far,  we  will  stretch  our  communication  a  step  be- 
yond, and  impart  to  the  reader  her  letter  to  her  lover. 

"Mr.  Reuben*  Butler, — Hoping  this  will  find  you  bet- 
ter, this  comes  to  say,  that  I  have  reached  this  great  town 
safe,  and  am  not  wearied  with  walking,  but  the  better 
for  it.  And  I  have  seen  many  things  which  I  trust  to 
tell  you  one  day.  also  the  muckle  kirk  of  this  place;  and 
all  around  the  city  are  mills,  whilk  havena  muckle  wheels 
nor  mill-dams,  but  gang  by  the  wind — strange  to  behold. 
Ane  miller  asked  me  to  gang  in  and  see  it  work,  but  I 
wad  not,  for  I  am  not  come  to"  the  south  to  make  acquain- 
tance with  strangers.  I  keep  the  straight  road,  and  just 
beck  if  onybody  speaks  to-  me  ceevily,  and  answers  nae- 
body  with  the  tong  but  women  of  mine  ain  sect.  I  wish, 
Mr.  Butler,  I  kend  onything  that  wad  make  ye  weel,  for 
they  hae  mair  medicines  in  this  town  of  York  than  wad 
cure  a'  Scotland,  and  surely  some  of  them  wad  be  gude 
for  your  complaints.  If  ye  had  a  kindly  motherly  body 
to  nurse  ye,  and  no  to  let  ye  waste  yourscll  wi'  reading — 
whilk  ye  read  mair  than  eneugh  with  the  bairns  in  the 
schule — and  to  gie  ye  warm  milk  in  the  morning,  T  wad 
be  mair  easy  for  ye.  Dear  Mr.  Butler,  keep  a  good  heart, 
for  we  are  in  the  hands  of  Ane  that  kens  better  what  is 
gurle  for  us  than  we  ken  what  is  for  oursells.  T  hae  tuio 
doubt  to  do  that  for  which  I  am  come — I  canna  doubt  it 


332  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

— I  winna  think  to  doubt  it — because,  if  I  haena  full  as- 
surance, how  shall  I  bear  myself  with  earnest  entreaties 
in  the  great  folk's  presence?  But  to  ken  that  ane's  pur- 
pose is  right,  and  to  make  their  heart  strong,  is  the  way 
to  get  through  the  warst  day's  darg.  The  bairns'  rime 
says,  the  warst  blast  of  the  borrowing  days*  couldna  kill 
the  three  silly  poor  hog-lambs.  And  if  it  be  God's  pleas- 
ure, we  that  are  sindered  in  sorrow  may  meet  again  in 
joy,  even  on  this  hither  side  of  Jordan.  I  dinna  bid  ye 
mind  what  I  said  at  our  partin'  anent  my  poor  father  and 
that  misfox'tunate  lassie,  for  I  ken  ye  will  do  sae  for  the 
sake  of  Christian  charity,  whilk  is  mair  than  the  en- 
treaties of  her  that  is  your  servant  to  command, 

"Jeanie  Deans/' 

This  letter  also  had  a  postscript. — "Dear  Keuben,  If 
ye  think  that  it  wad  hae  been  right  for  me  to  have  said 
mair  and  kinder  things  to  ye,  just  think  that  I  hae  writ- 
ten sae,  since  I  am  sure  that  I  wish  a'  that  is  kind  and 
right  to  ye  and  by  ye.  Ye  will  think  that  I  am  turned 
waster,  for  I  wear  clean  hose  and  shoon  every  day;  but 
it's  the  fashion  here  for  decent  bodies,  and  ilka  land  has 
its  ain  land-law.  Ower  and  aboon  a',  if  laughing  days 
were  e'er  to  come  back  again  till  us,  ye  wad  laugh  weel 
to  see  my  round  face  at  the  far  end  of  a  strae  hon-grace, 
that  looks  as  muckle  and  round  as  the  middell  aisle  in 
Libberton  Kirk.  But  it  sheds  the  sun  weel  aff,  and  keeps 
unceevil  folk  frae  staring  as  if  ane  were  a  worrycow.  I 
sail  tell  ye  by  writ  how  I  come  on  wi'  the  Duke  of  Ar- 
gyle,  when  I  won  up  to  Lunnon.  Direct  a  line,  to  say 
how  ye  are,  to  me,  to  the  charge  of  Mrs.  Margaret  Glass, 
tobacconist,  at  the  sign  of  the  Thistle,  Lunnon,  whilk,  if 
it  assures  me  of  your  health,  will  make  my  mind  sae 
muckle  easier.  Excuse  bad  spelling  and  writing,  as  I 
have  ane  ill  pen.'' 

The   orthography   of   these   epistles   may   seem   to   the 

*  The  three  last  days  of  March,  old  style,  are  called  the  Borrowing 
Days;  for  as  they  are  remarked  to  be  unusually  stormy,  it  is  feigned 
that  March  had  borrowed  them  from  April,  to  extend  the  sphere  of  his 
rougher  sway.  The  rhyme  on  the  subject  is  quoted  in  Leyden's  edition 
of  the  Complaynt  of  Scotland. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  333 

southron  to  require  a  better  apology  than  the  letter  ex- 
presses, thougrh  a  bad  pen  was  the  excuse  of  a  certain 
Galwegian  laird  for  bad  spellincr;  but,  on  behalf  of  the 
heroine,  I  would  have  them  to  know,  that,  thanks  to  the 
care  of  Butler,  Jeanie  Deans  wrote  and  spelled  fifty  times 
better  than  half  the  women  of  rank  in  Scotland  at  that 
l)eriod,  whose  strange  orthography  and  singular  diction 
form  the  strongest  contrast  to  the  good  sense  which  their 
correspondence  usually  intimates. 

For  the  rest,  in  the  tenor  of  these  epistles,  Jeanie  ex- 
l)re.ssed,  perhaps,  more  hopes,  a  firmer  courage,  and  bet- 
ter spirits,  than  she  actually  felt.  But  this  was  with  the 
amiable  idea  of  relieving  her  father  and  lover  from  ap- 
prehensions on  her  account,  which  she  was  sensible  must 
greatly  add  to  their  other  troubles.  "If  they  think  me 
weel,  and  like  to  do  weel,"  said  the  poor  pilgrim  to  her- 
self, "my  father  will  be  kinder  to  Effie,  and  Butler  will 
be  kinder  to  himself.  For  I  ken  weel  that  they  will  think 
mair  o'  me'  than  I  do  o'  mysell." 

Accordingly,  she  sealed  her  letters  carefully,  and  put 
tliem  into  the  post-office  with  her  own  hand,  after  many 
inquiries  concerning  the  time  in  which  they  were  likely 
to  reach  Edinburgh.  When  this  duty  was  performed,  she 
readily  accepted  her  landlady's  pressing  invitation  to  dine 
with  her,  and  remain  till  the  next  morning.  The  hostess, 
as  we  have  said,  was  her  countrywoman,  and  the  eager- 
ness with  which  Scottish  people  meet,  communicate,  and, 
to  the  extent  of  their  power,  assist  each  other,  although 
it  is  often  objected  to  us  as  a  prejudice  and  narrowness  of 
sentiment,  seems,  on  the  contrary,  to  arise  from  a  most 
justifiable  and  honorable  feeling  of  patriotism,  combined 
with  a  conviction,  which,  if  undeson'ed,  would  long  since 
have  been  confuted  by  experience,  that  tlie  habits  and 
])rinciple8-  of  the  natiofi  are  a  sort  of  guarantee  for  the 
character  of  the  individual.  At  any  rate,  if  the  extensive 
influence  of  this  national  partiality  be  considered  as  an 
additional  tie,  binding  man  to  man,  and  calling  forth  the 
good  offices  of  such  as  can  render  them  to  tlie  conntrvnian 
who  happens  to  need  them,  we  think  it  nnist  ])e  found  to 
exceed,  as  an  active  and  efficient  motive  to  generosity, 
that  more  impartial  and  wider  principle  of  general  benev- 


334  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

olence,  which  we  have  sometimes  seen  pleaded  as  an 
excuse  for  assisting  no   individual  whatever. 

Mrs..  Bickerton,  lady  of  the  ascendant  of  the  Seven 
Stars,  in  the  Castle-gate,  York,  was  deeply  infected  with 
the  unfortunate  prejudices  of  her  country.  Indeed,  she 
displayed  so  much  kindness  to  Jeanie  Deans  (because  she 
herself,  being  a  Merse  woman,  marched  with  Mid-Lothian, 
in  which  Jeanie  was  born),  showed  such  motherly  regard 
to  her,  and  such  anxiety  for  her  farther  progress,  that 
Jeanie  thought  herself  safe,  though  by  temper  sufficiently 
cautious,  in  communicating  her  whole  story  to  her. 

Mrs.  Bickerton  raised  her  hands  and  eyes  at  the  re- 
cital, and  exhibited  much  wonder  and  pity.  But  she  also 
gave  some  effectual  good  advice. 

She  required  to  know  the  strength  of  Jeanie's  purse, 
reduced  by  her  deposit  at  Libberton,  and  the  necessary 
expense  of  her  journey,  to  about  fifteen  pounds.  "This," 
she  said,  "would  do  very  well,  providing  she  could  carry 
it  a'  safe  to  London." 

"Safe?"  answered  Jeanie;  "I'se  warrant  my  carrying 
it  safe,  bating  the  needful  expenses." 

"Ay,  but  highwaymen,  lassie,"  said  Mrs.  Bickerton; 
"  for  ye  are  come  into  a  more  civilized,  that  is  to  say,  a 
more  roguish  country  than  the  north,  and  how  ye  are  to 
get  forward,  I  do  not  profess  to  know.  If  ye  could  wait 
here  eight  days,  our  wagons  would  go  up,  and  I  would 
recommend  you  to  Joe  Broadwheel,  who  would  see  you 
safe  to  the  Swan  and  two  Necks.  And  dinna  sneeze  at 
Joe,  if  he  should  be  for  drawing  up  wi'  you"  (continued 
Mrs.  Bickerton,  her  acquired  English  mingling  with  her 
national  or  original  dialect),  "he's  a  handy  boy,  and  a 
wanter,  and  no  lad  better  thought  o'  on  the  road;  and  the 
English  make  good  husbands  enough,  witness  my  poor 
man,  Moses  Bickerton,  as  is  i'  the  kirkyard." 

Jeanie  hastened  to  say,  that  she  could  not  possibly  wait 
for  the  setting  forth  of  Joe  Broadwheel;  being  internally 
by  no  means  gratified  with  the  idea  of  becoming  the  ob- 
ject of  his  attention  during  'the  journey. 

"Aweel,  lass,"  answered  the  good  landlady,  "then  thou 
must  pickle  in  thine  ain  poke-nook,  and  buckle  thy  girdle 
thine  ain  gate.     But  take  my  advice,  and  hide  thy  gold 


THE   HEART   OF    MID-LOTHIAN  335 

in  thy  stays,  aiul  keep  a  piece  or  two  and  some  silver,  in 
case  thou  be'st  spoke  withal;  for  there's  as  wud  lads 
haunt  within  a  day's  walk  from  hence,  as  on  the  Braes 
«•'  Doun  in  Perthshire.  And,  lass,  thou  maunna  gang 
staring  through  Lunnon,  asking  wha  kens  Mrs.  Glass  at 
the  sign  o*  the  Thistle;  marry,  they  would  laugh  thee  to 
scorn.*  But  gang  thou  to  this  honest  man,"  and  she  put 
a  direction  into  Jeanie's  hand,  *'he  kens  maist  part  of 
the  sponsible  Scottish  folk  in  the  city,  and  he  wmII  find 
out  your  friend  for  thee." 

Jeanie  took  the  little  introductory  letter  with  sincere 
thanks;  but.  something  alarmed  on  the  subject  of  the 
highway  robbers,  her  mind  recurred  to  what  Ratclifte 
had  mentioned  to  her,  and  briefly  relating  the  circum- 
stances which  placed  a  document  so  extraordinary  in  her 
hands,  she  put  the  paper  he  had  given  her  into  the  hands 
of  Mrs.   Bickerton, 

The  Lady  of  the  Seven  Stars  did  not,  indeed,  ring  a 
bell,  because  such  was  not  the  fashion  of  the  time,  but 
she  whistled  on  a  silver-call,  which  was  hung  by  her  side, 
and  a  tight  serving-maiden  entered  the  room. 

''Tell  Dick  Ostler  to  come  here,"  said  Mrs.  Bickerton. 

Dick  Ostler  accordingly  made  his  appearance;  —  a 
queer,  knowing,  shambling  animal,  with  a  hatchet-face, 
a  squint,  a  game-arm,  and  a  limp. 

"Dick  Ostler,"  said  Mrs.  Bickerton,  in  a  tone  of  au- 
thority that  showed  she  was  (at  least  by  adoption)  York- 
shire too,  "thou  knowest  most  people  and  most  things  o' 
the  road." 

"Eye,  eye,  God  help  me,  mistress,"  said  Dick,  shrugging 
his  shoulders  betwixt  a  repentant  and  a  knowing  expres- 
sion— "Eye!  I  ha'  know'd  a  thing  or  twa  i'  ma  day,  mis- 
tress." He  looked  sharp  and  laughed — looked  grave  and 
sighed,  as  one  w^ho  was  prepared  to  take  the  matter  either 
way. 

"Kenst  thou  this  wee  bit  paper  amang  the  rest,  man?" 
said  ^Irs.  Bickerton,  handing  him  the  protection  which 
RatclilTe  had  given  Jeanie  Deans. 

When  Dick  had  looked  at  the  paper,  he  winked  with 
one  eye,  extended  his  grotesque  mouth  fmm  ear  to  ear, 
like  a  navigable  canal,  scratched  his  head  powerfully,  and 


336  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

then'  said,  '^Ken? — ay — maybe  we  ken  summat,  an  it 
werena  for  harm  to  him,  mistress." 

"None  in  the  world,"  said  Mrs.  Bickerton;  "only  a 
dram  of  Hollands  to  thyself,  man,  an  thou  will't  speak." 

"Why,  then,"  said  Dick,  giving  the  head-band  of  his 
breeches  a  knowing  hoist  with  one  hand,  and  kicking  out 
one  foot  behind  him  to  accommodate  the  adjustment  of 
that  important  habiliment,  "I  dares  to  say  the  pass  will 
be  kend  weel  eneugh  on  the  road,  an  that  be  all." 

"But  what  sort  of  a  lad  was  he?"  said  Mrs.  Bickerton, 
winking  to  Jeanie,  as  proud  of  her  knowing  ostler. 

"Why,  what  ken  I? — Jim  the  Rat — why,  he  was  Cock 
o'  the  North  within  this  twelmonth — he  and  Scotch  Wil- 
son, Handie  Dandie,  as  they  called  him — but  he's  been 
out  o'  this  country  a  while,  as  I  rackon;  but  ony  gentle- 
man, as  keeps  the  road  o'  this  side  Stamford,  will  respect 
Jim's  pass." 

Without  asking  farther  questions,  the  landlady  filled 
Dick  Ostler  a  bumper  of  Hollands.  He  ducked  with  his 
head  and  shoulders,  scraped  with  his  more  advanced  hoof, 
bolted  the  alcohol,  to  use  the  learned  phrase,  and  with- 
drew to  his  own  domains. 

"I  would  advise  thee,  Jeanie,"  said  Mrs.  Bickerton, 
^'an  thou  meetest  with  ugly  customers  o'  the  road,  to 
show  them  this  bit  paper,  for  it  will  serve  thee,  assure 
thyself." 

A  neat  little  supper  concluded  the  evening.  The  ex- 
ported Scotswoman,  Mrs.  Bickerton  by  name,  eat  heart- 
ily of  one  or  two  seasoned  dishes,  drank  some  sound  old 
ale,  and  a  glass  of  stiif  negus;  while  she  gave  Jeanie  a 
history  of  her  gout,  admiring  how  it  was  possible  that 
she,  whose  fathers  and  mothers  for  many  generations  had 
been  farmers  in  Lammermuir,  could  have  come  by  a  dis- 
order so  totally  unknown  to  them.  Jeanie  did  not  choose 
to  offend  her  friendly  landlady,  by  speaking  her  mind  on 
the  probable  origin  of  this  complaint;  but  she  thought  on 
the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  and,  in  spite  of  all  entreaties  to 
better  fare,  made  her  evening  meal  upon  vegetables,  with 
a  glass  of  fair  water. 

Mrs.  Bickerton  assured  her,  that  the  acceptance  of  any 
reckoning  was  entirely  out  of  the  question,  furnished  her 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  337 

with  credentials  to  her  correspondent  in  London,  and  to 
several  inns  upon  the  road  where  she  had  some  influence 
or  interest,  reminded  her  of  the  precautions  she  should 
adopt  for  concealing  her  money,  and  as  she  was  to  de- 
part early  in  the  morning,  took  leave  of  her  very  affec- 
tionately, taking  her  word  that  she  would  visit  her  on  her 
return  to  Scotland,  and  tell  her  how  she  had  managed, 
and  that  summiim  bonum  for  a  gossip,  "all  how  and  about 
it."     This  Jeanie  faithfully  promised. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

And   Need   and   Misery,   Vice  and   Danger,  bind, 
In   sad  alliance,   each  degraded  mind. 

As  our  traveller  set  out  early  on  the  ensuing  morning  to 
prosecute  her  journey,  and  was  in  the  act  of  leaving  the 
inn-yard,  Dick  Ostler,  who  either  had  risen  early  or  neg- 
lected to  go  to  bed,  either  circumstance  being  equally  in- 
cident to  his  calling,  hollowed  out  after  her, — "The  top 
of  the  morning  to  you,  Moggie.  Have  a  care  o'  Gunnerby 
Hill,  young  one.  Robin  Hood's  dead  and  gwone,  but 
there  be  takers  yet  in  the  vale  of  Bever."  Jeanie  looked 
at  him  as  if  to  request  a  further  explanation,  but,  with 
a  leer,  a  shuffle,  and  a  shrug,  inimitable  (unless  by 
Emery),  Dick  turned  again  to  the  raw-boned  steed  which 
he  was  currying,  and  sung  as  he  employed  the  comb  and 
brush, — 

"Robin  Hood  was  a  yooman  good, 
And   Ills  bow   was  of  trusty  yew; 
And  if  Robin  said  stand  on  the  King's  lea-land. 
Pray,  why  should  not  we  say  so  too?" 

Jeanie  pursued  her  iourney  without  farther  inquiry, 
for  there  was  nothing  in  Dick's  manner  that  inclined  her 
to  prolong  their  conference.  A  painful  day's  journey 
brought  her  to  Ferrybridge,  the  best  inn,  then  and  since, 
upon  the  great  northern  road;  and  an  introduction  from 
Mr-.  P>i<-k«rtoM.  ;i.].l<'d  to  her  own  simple  and  quiet  man- 


3SS 


THE    HEART   OF 


IX 


ners.  b  'A  the  iamdla4;v 

ihs^  •■      - ^-me  pFocared  1:     _- 

m...  of  a  piUkm  and  poet -horse 

Tr:      ■  ■  die  aoooiic'  "  " 

af T  •: :  .  •!-  the  Iwo^ 

Siae  was  a  g?*:- 


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•de  (of  traTeiiin^  to 


lE^  tmat 

At   -    -  - 


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-itx  to  make  ^. -_^-.: .-, -.:.:^-, -. 

n.  "w-fnt  straisrlDt  to  the  mn  to  iriiidb 


it  to  laser.  l*x>keid 


Sc-. 


in- 
■^  a 


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murer- 


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u.21^  ninnifT.  it- 

jBor  ^  i  .ai 


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T.'iBtr. 


JDU  l&t 


j'«K  IBHlftHiip  ST 


340  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

"Pay?  Lord  help  thee! — why  nought,  woman — we  hae 
drawn  no  liquor  but  a  gill  o'  beer,  and  the  Saracen's 
Head  can  spare  a  mouthful  o'  meat  to  a  stranger  like  o' 
thee,  that  cannot  speak  Christian  language.  So  here's 
to  thee  once  more.  The  same  again,  quoth  Mark  of 
Bellgrave,"  and  he  took  another  profound  pull  at  the 
tankard. 

The  travellers  who  have  visited  Newark  more  lately 
will  not  fail  to  remember  the  remarkably  civil  and  gen- 
tlemanly manners  of  the  person  who  now  keeps  the  prin- 
cipal inn  there,  and  may  find  some  amusement  in  con- 
trasting them  with  those  of  his  more  rough  predecessor. 
But  we  believe  it  will  be  found  that  the  polish  has  worn 
off  none  of  the  real  worth  of  the  metal. 

Taking  leave  of  her  Lincolnshire  Gains,  Jeanie  re- 
sumed her  solitary  walk,  and  was  somewhat  alarmed  when 
evening  and  twilight  overtook  her  in  the  open  ground 
which  extends  to  the  foot  of  Gunnerby  Hill,  and  is  in- 
tersected with  patches  of  copse  and  with  swampy  spots. 
The  extensive  commons  on  the  north  road,  most  of  which 
are  now  enclosed,  and  in  general  a  relaxed  state  of  po- 
lice, exposed  the  traveller  to  a  highway  robbery  in  a  de- 
gree which  is  now  unknown,  excepting  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  metropolis.  Aware  of  this  circumstance, 
Jeanie  mended  her  pace  when  she  heard  the  trampling 
of  a  horse  behind,  and  instinctively  drew  to  one  side  of 
the  road,  as  if  to  allow  as  much  room  for  the  rider  to 
pass  as  might  be  possible.  When  the  animal  came  up, 
she  found  that  it  was  bearing  two  women,  the  one  placed 
on  a  side-saddle,  the  other  on  a  pillion  behind  her,  as  may 
still  occasionally  be  seen  in  England. 

"A  braw  gude  night  to  ye,  Jeanie  Deans,"  said  the 
foremost  female,  as  the  horse  passed  our  heroine ;  "what 
think  ye  o'  yon  bonny  hill  yonder,  lifting  its  brow  to  the 
moon?  Trow  ye  yon's  the  gate  to  heaven,  that  ye  are 
sae  fain  of? — maybe  we  may  win  there  the  night  yet, 
God  sain  us,  though  our  minny  here's  rather  driegh  in 
the  upgang." 

The  speaker  kept  changing  her  seat  in  the  saddle,  and 
half-stopping  the  horse,  as  she  brought  her  body  round, 
while   the   woman   that    sate   behind   her   on   the   pillion 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  341 

^eemed  to  urge  her  on,  in  words  which  Jeanie  heard  but 
imperfectly. 

"Haud   your   tongue,   ye   moon-raised    b !    what    is 

your  business  with  ,  or  with  heaven  or  hell  either?'' 

"Troth,  mither,  no  muekle  wi'  heaven,  I  doubt,  consid- 
ering wha  I  carry  ahint  me — and  as  for  hell,  it  will  fight 
its  ain  battle  at  its  ain  time,  I'se  be  bound. — Come,  nag- 
gie,  trot  awa,  man,  an  as  thou  wert  a  broomstick,  for  a 
witch  rides  thee — 

*With  my  curtch  on  my  foot,  and  my  shoe  on  my  hand, 
I  glance  like  the  wildfire  through  brugh  and  through  land.' " 

The  tramp  of  the  horse,  and  the  increasing  distance, 
drowned  the  rest  of  her  song,  but  Jeanie  heard  for  some 
time  the  inarticulate  sounds  ring  along  the  waste. 

Our  pilgrim  remained  stupefied  with  undefined  appre- 
hensions. The  being  named  by  her  name  in  so  wild  a 
manner,  and  in  a  strange  country,  without  further  ex- 
planation or  communing,  by  a  person  who  thus  strangely 
flitted  forward  and  disappeared  before  her,  came  near  to 
the  supernatural  sounds  in  Comus : — 

The  airy  tongues,  which  syllable  men's  names 
On  sands,  and  shores,  and  desert  wildernesses. 

And  although  widely  different  in  features,  deportment, 
and  rank,  from  the  Lady  of  that  enchanting  masque,  the 
continuation  of  the  passage  may  be  happily  applied  to 
Jeanie  Deans  upon  this  singular  alarm: — 

These  thoughts  may  startle  well.  ])ut  not  astound 
The  virtuous  mind,  that  ever  walks  attended 
By  a  strong  siding  champion — Conscience, 

In  fact,  it  was,  with  the  recollection  of  the  affection- 
ate and  dutiful  errand  on  which  she  was  engaged,  her 
right,  if  such  a  word  could  be  applicable,  to  expect  pro- 
tection in  a  task  so  meritorious.  She  had  not  advanced 
much  farther,  with  a  mind  calmed  by  these  reflections, 
when  she  was  disturbed  by  a  new  and  more  instant  sub- 
ject of  terror.     Two  men,  who  had  been  lurking  among 


342  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

some  copse,  started  up  as  she  advanced,  and  met  her  on 
the  road  in  a  menacing  manner.  "Stand  and  deliver," 
said  one  of  them,  a  short  stout  fellow,  in  a  smock-frock, 
such  as  are  worn  by  wagoners. 

"The  woman,"  said  the  other,  a  tall  thin  figure,  "does 
not  understand  the  words  of  action. — Your  money,  my 
precious,  or  your  life!" 

"I  have  but  very  little  money,  gentlemen,"  said  poor 
Jeanie,  tendering  that  portion  which  she  had  separated 
from  her  principal  stock,  and  kept  apart  for  such  an 
emergency;  "but  if  you  are  resolved  to  have  it,  to  be 
sure  you  must  have  it." 

"This  won't  do,  my  girl.  D — n  me,  if  it  shall  pass !" 
said  the  shorter  ruffian;  "do  ye  think  gentlemen  are  to 
hazard  their  lives  on  the  road  to  be  cheated  in  this  way? 
We'll  have  every  farthing  you  have  got,  or  we  will  strip 
you  to  the  skin,  curse  me." 

His  companion,  who  seemed  to  have  something  like 
compassion  for  the  horror  which  Jeanie's  countenance 
now  expressed,  said,  "No,  no,  Tom,  this  is  one  of  the 
precious  sisters,  and  we'll  take  her  word,  for  once,  with- 
out putting  her  to  the  stripping  proof. — Hark  ye,  my 
lass,  if  you'll  look  up  to  heaven,  and  say,  this  is  the  last 
penny  you  have  about  ye,  why,  hang  it,  we'll  let  you 
pass." 

"I  am  not  free,"  answered  Jeanie,  "to  say  what  I  have 
about  me,  gentlemen,  for  there's  life  and  death  depends 
on  my  journey;  but  if  you  leave  me  as  much  as  finds  me 
in  bread  and  water,  I'll  be  satisfied,  and  thank  you,  and 
pray  for  you." 

"D — n  your  prayers!"  said  the  shorter  fellow,  "that's 
a  coin  that  won't  pass  with  us;"  and  at  the  same  time 
made  a  motion  to  seize  her. 

"Stay,  gentlemen,"  Ratcliife's  pass  suddenly  occurring 
to  her;  "perhaps  you  know  this  paper." 

"What  the  devil  is  she  after  now,  Erank?"  said  the 
more  savage  ruffian — "Do  you  look  at  it,  for,  d — n  me 
if  I  could  read  it,  if  it  were  for  the  benefit  of  my  clergy." 

"This  is  a  jark  from  Jim  Ratcliffe,"  said  the  taller, 
having  looked  at  the  bit  of  paper.  "The  wench  must  pass 
by  our  cutter's  law." 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  343 

"I  say  no,''  answered  his  companion;  "Rat  has  left  the 
lay,  and  turned  bloodhound,  they  say." 

"We  may  need  a  good  turn  from  him  all  the  same," 
said  the  taller  ruffian  again. 

"But  what  are  we  to  do  then?"  said  the  shorter  man. — 
"We  promised,  you  know,  to  strip  the  wench,  and  send 
her  begging  back  to  her  own  beggarly  country,  and  now 
you  are  for  letting  her  go  on." 

*T  did  not  say  that,"  said  the  other  fellow,  and  whis- 
pered to  his  companion,  who  replied,  "Be  alive  about  it 
then,  and  don't  keep  chattering  till  some  travellers  come 
up  to  nab  us." 

"You  must  follow  us  off  the  road,  young  woman,"  said 
the  taller. 

"For  the  love  of  God!"  exclaimed  Jeanie,  "as  you  were 
born  of  woman,  dinna  ask  me  to  leave  the  road!  rather 
take  all  I  have  in  the  world." 

"What  the  devil  is  the  wench  afraid  of?"  said  the 
other  fellow.  "I  tell  you  you  shall  come  to  no  harm; 
but  if  you  will  not  leave  the  road  and  come  with  us, 
d — n  me,  but  I'll  beat  your  brains  out  where  you  stand.'* 

"Thou  art  a  rough  bear,  Tom,"  said  his  companion. — 
"An  ye  touch  her,  I'll  give  ye  a  shake  by  the  collar  shall 
make  the  Leicester  beans  rattle  in  thy  guts. — Never  mind 
him,  girl;  I  will  not  allow  him  to  lay  a  finger  on  you,  if 
you  walk  quietly  on  with  us;  but  if  you  keep  jabbering 
there,  d — n  me,  but  I'll  leave  him  to  settle  it  with  you." 

This  threat  conveyed  all  that  is  terrible  to  the  imagi- 
nation of  poor  Jeanie,  who  saw  in  him  that  "was  of 
milder  mood"  her  only  protection  from  the  most  brutal 
treatment.  She,  therefore,  not  only  followed  him,  but 
even  held  him  by  the  sleeve,  lest  he  should  escape  from 
hor;  and  the  fellow,  hardened  as  he  was,  seemed  some- 
thing touched  by  these  marks  of  confidence,  and  repeat- 
edly assured  her  that  he  would  suffer  her  to  receive  no 
harm. 

They  conducted  their  prisoner  in  a  direction  leading 
more  and  more  from  the  public  road,  but  she  observed 
that  thoy  kept  a  sort  of  track  or  by-path,  which  rrlioved 
her  from  part  of  her  api)rehensions,  which  would  have 
been  greatly  increased  had  they  not  seemed  to  follow  a 
determined  and  ascertained  route.     After  about  half  an 


344  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

hour's  walking,  all  three  in  profound  silence,  they  ap- 
proached an  old  barn,  which  stood  on  the  edge  of  some 
cultivated  ground,  but  remote  from  everything  like  a 
habitation.  It  was  itself,  however,  tenanted,  for  there 
was  light  in  the  windows. 

One  of  the  footpads  scratched  at  the  door,  which  was 
opened  by  a  female,  and  they  entered  with  their  unhappy 
prisoner.  An  old  woman,  who  was  preparing  food  by  the 
assistance  of  a  stifling  fire  of  lighted  charcoal,  asked 
them,  in  the  name  of  the  devil,  what  they  brought  the 
wrench  there  for,  and  why  they  did  not  strip  her  and  turn 
her  abroad  on  the  common? 

"Come,  come,  Mother  Blood,"  said  the  tall  man,  "we'll 
do  what's  right  to  oblige  you,  and  we'll  do  no  more;  we 
are  bad  enough,  but  not  such  as  you  would  make  us — 
devils  incarnate." 

"She  has  got  a  jarh  from  Jim  Ratcliffe,"  said  the  short 
fellow,  "and  Frank  here  won't  hear  of  our  putting  her 
through  the  mill." 

"No,  that  will  I  not,  by  G— d!"  answered  Frank;  "but 
if  old  Mother  Blood  could  keep  her  here  for  a  little  while, 
or  send  her  back  to  Scotland,  without  hurting  her,  why, 
I  see  no  harm  in  that — not  I." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Frank  Levitt,"  said  the  old  woman, 
"if  you  call  me  Mother  Blood  again,  I'll  paint  this  gully" 
(and  she  held  a  knife  up  as  if  about  to  make  good  her 
threat)  "in  the  best  blood  in  your  body,  my  bonny  boy." 

"The  price  of  ointment  must  be  up  in  the  north,"  said 
Frank,  "that  puts  Mother  Blood  so  much  out  of  humor." 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  the  fury  darted  .her 
knife  at  him  with  the  vengeful  dexterity  of  a  wild  In- 
dian. As  he  was  on  his  guard,  he  avoided  the  missile 
by  a  sudden  motion  of  his  head,  but  it  whistled  past  his 
ear,  and  stuck  deep  in  the  clay  wall  of  a  partition  behind. 

"Come,  come,  mother,"  said  the  robber,  seizing  her  by 
both  wrists,  "I  shall  teach  you  who's  master;"  and  so 
saying,  he  forced  the  hag  backward  by  main  force,  who 
strove  vehemently  until  she  sunk  on  a  bunch  of  straw, 
and  then  letting  go  her  hands,  he  held  up  his  finger 
toward  her  in  the  menacing  posture  by  which  a  maniac 
is  intimidated  by  his  keeper.    It  appeared  to  produce  the 


rHE    HEART    OE    MID-LOTHIAN  345 

desired  elTeet;  for  she  did  not  attempt  to  rise  from  the 
-eat  on  which  he  had  placed  her,  or  to  resume  any  meas- 
ures of  actual  violence,  but  wrung  her  withered  hands 
with  impotent  rage,  and  brayed  and  howled  like  a  de- 
moniac. 

'*!  will  keep  my  promise  with  you,  you  old  devil,"  said 
Frank ;  "the  wench  shall  not  go  forward  on  the  London 
road,  but  1  will  not  have  you  touch  a  hair  of  her  head, 
if  it  were  but  for  your  insolence." 

This  intimation  seemed  to  compose  in  some  degree  the 
vehement  passion  of  the  old  hag;  and  while  her  exclama- 
tions and  howls  sunk  into  a  low,  maundering,  growling 
tone  of  voice,  another  personage  was  added  to  this  singu- 
lar party. 

'•Eh,  Frank  Levitt,"  said  this  newcomer,  who  entered 
with  a  hop,  step,  and  jump,  which  at  once  conveyed  her 
from  the  door  into  the  center  of  the  party,  ''were  ye  kill- 
ing our  mother?  or  were  ye  cutting  the  grunter's  weasand 
that  Tarn  brought  in  this  morning?  or  have  ye  been  read- 
ing your  prayers  backward,  to  bring  up  my  auld  acquain- 
tance the  deil  amang  ye?" 

The  tone  of  the  speaker  was  so  particular,  that  Jeanie 
immediately  recognized  the  woman  who  had  rode  fore- 
most of  the  pair  which  passed  her  just  before  she  met 
the  robbers;  a  circumstance  which  greatly  increased  her 
terror,  as  it  served  to  show  that  the  mischief  designed 
against  her  was  premeditated,  though  by  whom,  or  for 
what  cause,  she  was  totally  at  a  loss  to  conjecture.  From 
the  style  of  her  conversation,  the  reader  also  may  proba- 
bly acknowledge  in  this  female  an  old  acquaintance  in 
the  earlier  part  of  our  narrative. 

"Out,  ye  mad  devil!"  said  Tom,  whom  she  had  disturbed 
in  the  middle  of  a  draught  of  some  licjuor  with  which  he 
had  found  means  of  accommodating  himself;  "betwixt 
your  Bess  of  Bedlam  pranks,  and  your  dauTs  frenzies,  a 
man  might  live  quieter  in  the  devil's  ken  than  here." — 
And  he  again  resumed  the  broken  jug  out  of  which  he 
had  been  drinking. 

"And  wha's  this  o't?"  said  the  madwoman,  dancing  up 
to  Jeanie  Deans,  who,  although  in  great  terror,  yet 
watched  the  scene  with  a  resolution  to  let  nothing  pass 


346  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

unnoticed  which  might  be  serviceable  in  assisting  her  to 
escape,  or  informing  her  as  to  the  true  nature  of  her 
situation,  and  the  danger  attending  it, — ''Wha's  this  o't?" 
again  exclaimed  Madge  Wildfire.  ''Douce  Davie  Deans, 
the  auld  doited  whig  body's  daughter,  in  a  gipsy's  barn, 
and  the  night  setting  in ;  this  is  a  sight  for  sair  een ! — 
Eh,  sirs,  the  falling  off  o'  the  godly! — and  the  t'other 
sister's  in  the  Tolbooth  at  Edinburgh!  I  am  very  sorry 
for  her,  for  my  share — it's  my  mother  wusses  ill  to  her, 
and  no  me — though  maybe  I  hae  as  muckle  cause." 

"Hark  ye,  Madge,"  said  the  taller  ruffian,  "jou  have 
not  such  a  touch  of  the  devil's  blood  as  the  hag  your 
mother,  who  may  be  his  dam  for  what  I  know — take  this 
young  woman  to  your  kennel,  and  do  not  let  the  devil 
enter,  though  he  should  ask  in  God's  name." 

"Ou  ay;  that  I  will,  Frank,"  said  Madge,  taking  hold 
of  Jeanie  by  the  arm,  and  pulling  her  along;  "for  it's  no 
for  decent  Christian  young  leddies,  like  her  and  me,  to 
be  keeping  the  like  o'  you  and  Tyburn  Tam  company  at 
this  time  o'  night.  Sae  gude  e'en  t'ye,  sires,  and  mony 
o'  them;  and  may  ye  a'  sleep  till  the  hangman  wauken 
ye,  and  then  it  will  be  weel  for  the  country." 

She  then,  as  her  wild  fancy  seemed  suddenly  to  prompt 
her,  walked  demurely  toward  her  mother,  who,  seated  by 
the  charcoal  fire,  with  the  reflection  of  the  red  light  on 
her  withered  and  distorted  features  marked  by  every  evil 
passion,  seemed  the  very  picture  of  Hecate  at  her  infernal 
rites;  and  suddenly  dropping  on  her  knees,  said,  with  the 
manner  of  a  six  years  old  child,  "Mammie,  hear  me  say 
my  prayers  before  I  go  to  bed,  and  say  God  bless  my 
bonny  face,  as  ye  used  to  do  lang  syne." 

"The  deil  flay  the  hide  o'  it  to  sole  his  brogues  wi' !" 
said  the  old  lady,  aiming  a  buffet  at  the  supplicant,  in 
answer  to  her  duteous  request. 

The  blow  missed  Madge,  who,  being  probably  ac- 
quainted by  experience  with  the  mode  in  which  her 
mother  was  wont  to  confer  her  maternal  benedictions, 
slipped  out  of  arm's  length  with  great  dexterity  and  quick- 
ness. The  hag  then  started  up,  and,  seizing  a  pair  of 
old  fire-tongs,  would  have  amended  her  motion,  by  beat- 
ing out  the  brains  either  of  her  daughter  or  Jeanie  (she 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  347 

did  not  seem  grreatly  to  care  which),  when  her  hand  was 
once  more  arrested  by  the  man  whom  they  called  Frank 
Levitt,  who,  seizing  her  by  the  shoulder,  flung  her  from 
him  with  great  violence,  exclaiming,  ''What,  ^Mother 
Damnable — again,  and  in  my  sovereign  presence? — Hark 
ye,  Madge  of  Bedlam,  get  to  your  hole  with  your  play- 
fellow, or  we  shall  have  the  devil  to  pay  here,  and  nothing 
to  pay  him  with." 

Madge  took  Levitt's  advice,  retreating  as  fast  as  she 
could,  and  dragging  Jeanie  along  with  her  into  a  sort  of 
recess,  partitioned  off  from  the  rest  of  the  barn,  and  filled 
with  straw,  from  which  it  appeared  that  it  was  ii;tended 
for  the  purpose  of  slumber.  The  moonlight  shone, 
through  an  open  hole,  upon  a  pillion,  a  pack-saddle,  and 
one  or  two  wallets,  the  travelling  furniture  of  Madge  and 
her  amiable  mother. — "'Xow,  saw  ye  e'er  in  your  life," 
said  Madge,  "sae  dainty  a  chamber  of  deas?  see  as  the 
moon  shines  down  sae  caller  on  the  fresh  strae !  There's 
no  a  pleasanter  cell  in  Bedlam,  for  as  braw  a  place  as  it 
is  on  the  outside. — Were  ye  ever  in  Bedlam?" 

''Xo,"  answered  Jeanie  faintly,  appalled  by  the  ques- 
tion, and  the  way  in  which  it  was  put,  yet  willing  to 
soothe  her  insane  companion;  being  in  circumstances  so 
unhappily  precarious,  that  even  the  society  of  this  gib- 
bering madwoman  seemed  a  species  of  protection. 

"Never  in  Bedlam!"  said  Madge,  as  if  with  some  sur- 
prise.— "But  ye'll  hae  been  in  the  cells  at  Edinburgh?" 

"Never,"   repeated  Jeanie. 

"Weel,  I  think  thae  daft  carles  the  magistrates  send 
naebody  to  Bedlam  but  me — they  maun  hae  an  unco  re- 
spect for  me,  for  whenever  I  am  brought  to  them,  they 
aye  hae  me  back  to  Bedlam.  But  troth  Jeanie"  (she 
said  this  in  a  very  confidential  tone),  "to  tell  ye  my  pri- 
vate mind  about  it,  I  think  ye  are  at  nae  great  loss;  for 
the  keeper's  a  cross  patch,  and  he  maun  hae  it  a'  his  ain 
gate,  to  be  sure,  or  he  makes  the  place  waur  than  hell.  I 
often  tell  him  he's  the  daftest  in  a'  the  house. — But  what 
are  they  making  sic  a  skirling  for? — Deil  ane  o'  them's 
get  in  here — it  wadna  be  mensefu'!  I  will  sit  wi'  my  back 
again  the  door;  it  winna  be  that  easv  stirring  me." 

"Madge !"  —  "Madge !"  —  "Madge   Wildfire !"  —  "Madge 


348  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

devil !  what  have  ye  done  with  the  horse  ?"  was  repeatedly 
asked  by  the  men  without. 

"He's  e'en  at  his  supper,  puir  thing/'  answered  Madge; 
"deil  an  ye  were  at  yours  too,  and  it  were  scauding  brim- 
stane,  and  then  we  wad  hae  less  o'  your  din." 

"His  supper?"  answered  the  more  sulky  ruf&an — "What 
d'ye  mean  by  that? — Tell  me  where  he  is,  or  I  will  knock 
your  Bedlam  brains  out!" 

"He's  in  Gaffer  Gabblewood's  wheat-close,  an  ye  maun 
ken." 

"His  wheat-close,  you  crazed  jilt!"  answered  the  other, 
with   an   accent   of  great   indignation. 

"Oh,  dear  Tyburn  Tam,  man,  what  ill  will  the  blades 
of  the  young  wheat  do  to  the  puir  naig?" 

"That  is  not  the  question,"  said  the  other  robber;  "but 
what  the  country  will  say  to  us  to-morrow  when  they  see 
him  in  such  quarters. — Go,  Tom,  and  bring  him  in;  and 
avoid  the  soft  ground,  my  lad;  leave  no  hoof -track  be- 
hind you." 

"I  think  you  give  me  always  the  fag  of  it,  whatever  is 
to  be  done,"  grumbled  his  companion. 

"Leap,  Laurence,  you're  long  enough,"  said  the  other; 
and  the  fellow  left  the  bam  accordingly,  without  farther 
remonstrance. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Madge  had  arranged  herself  for  re- 
pose on  the  straw;  but  still  in  a  half-sitting  posture,  with 
her  back  resting  against  the  door  of  the  hovel,  which,  as 
it  opened  inward,  was  in  this  manner  kept  shut  by  the 
weight  of  her  person. 

"There's  mair  shifts  by  stealing,  Jeanie,"  said  Madge 
Wildfire;  "though  whiles  I  can  hardly  get  our  mother  to 
think  sae.  Wha  wad  hae  thought  but  mysell  of  making 
a  bolt  of  my  ain  back-bane!  But  it's  no  sae  strong  as 
thae  that  I  hae  seen  in  the  Tolbooth  at  Edinburgh.  The 
hammermen  of  Edinburgh  are  to  my  mind  afore  the 
world  for  making  stanchions,  ring-bolts,  fetter-bolts,  bars, 
and  locks.  And  they  arena  that  bad  at  girdles  for  car- 
cakes  neither,  though  the  Cu'ross  hammermen  have  the 
gree  for  that.  My  mother  had  ance  a  bonny  Cu'ross  gir- 
dle, and  I  thought  to  have  baked  carcakes  on  it  for  my 
puir  wean  that's  dead  and  gane  nae  fair  way — but  we 
maun    a'    dee,   ye   ken,    Jeanie — You    Cameronian    bodies 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  349 

ken  that  brawlie:  and  ye're  for  making  a  hell  upon  earth 
that  ye  may  be  less  unwillin'  to  part  wi'  it.  But  as  touch- 
ing Bedlam  that  ye  were  speaking  about,  I'se  ne'er  rec- 
ommend it  muckle  the  tae  gate  or  the  t'other,  be  it  right 
— be  it  wrang.  But  ye  ken  what  the  sang  says?"  And, 
pursuing  the  unconnected  and  floating  wanderings  of  her 
mind,  she  sung  aloud — 

"In  the  bonny  cells  of  Bedlam, 
Ere  I  was  ane  and  twenty, 
I  had  hempen  bracelets  strong, 
And  merry  whips,  ding-dong. 
And  prayer  and  fasting  plenty. 

*'Weel,  Jeanie.  I  am  something  herse  the  night,  and  I 
canna  sing  muckle  mair;  and  troth,  I  think,  I  am  gaun 
to  sleep." 

She  dropped  her  head  on  her  breast,  a  posture  from 
which  Jeanie,  who  would  have  given  the  world  for  an 
opportunity  of  quiet  to  consider  the  means  and  the  proba- 
bility of  her  escape,  was  very  careful  not  to  disturb  her. 
After  nodding,  however,  for  a  minute  or  two,  with  her 
eyes  half  closed,  the  unquiet  and  restless  spirit  of  her 
malady  again  assailed  Madge.  She  raised  her  head,  and 
spoke,  but  with  a  lowered  tone,  which  was  again  suddenly 
overcome  by  drowsiness,  to  which  the  fatigue  of  a  day's 
journey  on  horseback  had  probably  given  unwonted  oc- 
casion,— "I  dinna  ken  what  makes  me  sae  sleepy — I 
amaist  never  sleep  till  my  bonny  Lady  Moon  gangs  till 
her  bed — mair  by  token,  when  she's  at  the  full,  ye  ken, 
rowing  aboon  us  yonder  in  her  grand  silver  coach — I 
have  danced  to  her  my  lane  sometimes  for  very  joy — and 
whiles  dead  folk  came  and  danced  wi'  me — the  like  o* 
Jock  Porteous,  or  onybody  I  had  kend  when  I  was  living 
— for  ye  maun  ken  I  was  ance  dead  mysell."  Here  the 
poor  maniac  sung  in  a  low  and  wild  tone — 

"My  banes  are  buried  in  yon  kirkyard 
Sae  far  ayont  the  sea. 
And  it  is  but  my  blithesome  ghaist 
Tliat's  speaking  now  to  thee. 

''But,  after  a'    Jeanie.  my  woman,  naebody  kens  weel 
wha's  living  and  wha's  dead — or  wha's  gane  to  Fairyland 


350  THE  HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

— there's  another  question.  Whiles  I  think  my  puir 
bairn's  dead — ^ye  ken  very  weel  it's  buried — but  that  sig- 
nifies naething.  I  have  had  it  on  my  knee  a  hundred 
times,  and  a  hundred  till  that,  since  it  was  buried,  and 
how  could  that  be  were  it  dead,  ye  ken? — it's  merely  im- 
possible."— And  here,  some  conviction  half-overcoming 
the  reveries  of  her  imagination,  she  burst  into  a  fit  of 
crying  and  ejaculation,  "Wae's  me!  wae's  me!  wae's  me!" 
till  at  length  she  moaned  and  sobbed  herself  into  a  deep 
sleep,  which  was  soon  intimated  by  her  breathing  hard, 
leaving  Jeanie  to  her  own  melancholy  reflections  and 
observations. 


CHAPTEE   XXX 

>   T^*"  Bind    her    quickly;    or,    by    this    steel, 

/  -  *"  I'll  tell,  although  I  truss  for  company. 

Fletcher. 

The  imperfect  light  which  shone  into  the  window  enabled 
Jeanie  to  see  that  there  was  scarcely  any  chance  of  mak- 
ing her  escape  in  that  direction;  for  the  aperture  was 
high  in  the  wall,  and  so  narrow,  that,  could  she  have 
climbed  up  to  it,  she  might  well  doubt  whether  it  would 
have  permitted  her  to  pass  her  body  through  it.  An  un- 
successful attempt  to  escape  would  be  sure  to  draw  down 
worse  treatment  than  she  now  received,  and  she,  there- 
fore, resolved  to  watch  her  opportunity  carefully  ere 
making  such  a  perilous  effort.  Eor  this  purpose  she  ap- 
plied herself  to  the  ruinous  clay  partition,  which  divided 
the  hovel  in  which  she  now  was  from  the  rest  of  the 
waste  barn.  It  was  decayed  and  full  of  cracks  and  chinks, 
one  of  which  she  enlarged  with  her  fingers,  cautiously 
and  without  noise,  until  she  could  obtain  a  plain  view 
of  the  old  hag  and  the  taller  ruffian,  whom  they  called 
Levitt,  seated  together  beside  the  decayed  fire  of  char- 
coal, and  apparently  engaged  in  close  conference.  She 
was  at  first  terrified  by  the  sight,  for  the  features  of  the 
old  woman  had  a  hideous  cast  of  hardened  and  inveter- 
ate malice  and  ill-humor,  and  those  of  the  man,  though 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  351 

naturally  less  unfavorable,  were  such  as  corresponded 
well  with  licentious  habits,  and  a  lawless  profession. 

"But  I  remembered/'  said  Jeanie,  "my  worthy  father's 
tales  of  a  winter  evening,  how  he  was  confined  with  the 
blessed  martyr,  Mr.  James  Renwick,  who  lifted  up  the 
fallen  standard  of  the  true  reformed  Kirk  of  Scotland, 
after  the  worthy  and  renowned  Daniel  Cameron,  our  last 
blessed  banner-man,  had  fallen  among  the  swords  of  the 
wicked  at  Airsmoss,  and  how  the  very  hearts  of  the  wicked 
malefactors  and  murderers,  whom  they  were  confined 
withal,  were  melted  like  wax*at  the  sound  of  their  doctrine : 
and  I  bethought  mysell,  that  the  same  help  that  was  wi^ 
them  in  their  strait,  wad  be  wi'  me  in  mine,  an  I  could 
but  watch  the  Lord's  time  and  opportunity  for  deliver- 
ing my  feet  from  their  snare;  and  I  minded  the  Scrip- 
ture of  the  blessed  Psalmist,  whilk  he  insisteth  on,  as 
weel  in  the  forty-second  as  in  the  forty-third  psalm,  'Why 
art  thou  cast  down,  O  my  soul,  and  why  art  thou  dis- 
quieted within  me?  Hope  in  God,  for  I  shall  yet  praise 
Him,  who  is  the  health  of  my  countenance,  and  my 
God.'" 

Strengthened  in  a  mind  naturally  calm,  sedate,  and 
firm,  by  the  influence  of  religious  confidence,  this  poor 
captive  was  enabled  to  attend  to,  and  comprehend,  a 
great  part  of  an  interesting  conversation  which  passed 
betwixt  those  into  who^ie  hands  she  had  fallen,  notwith- 
standing that  their  meaning  was  partly  disguised  by  the 
occasional  use  of  cant  terms,  of  which  Jeanie  knew  not 
the  import,  by  the  low  tone  in  which  they  spoke,  and  by 
their  mode  of  supplying  thoir  broken  ]thra.>^e3  by  shrugs 
and  signs,  as  is  usual  amongst  those  of  their  disorderly 
profession. 

The  man  opened  the  conversation  by  saying,  "Now, 
dame,  you  see  I  am  true  to  my  friend.  I  have  not  for- 
got that  you  planked  a  chury,  which  helped  me  through 
the  bars  of  the  Castle  of  York,  and  I  came  to  do  your 
work  without  asking  questions,  for  one  good  turn  de- 
serves another.  But  now  that  Madge,  who  is  as  loud  as 
Tom  of  Lincoln,  is  somewhat  still,  and  this  same  Tyburn 
Neddie  is  shaking  his  heels  after  the  old  nag,  why,  you 
must  tell  me  what  all  this  is  about,  and  what's  to  be  done 


352  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

— for  d — n  me  if  I  touch  the  girl,  or  let  her  be  touched, 
and  she  with  Jim  Rat's  pass  too." 

"Thou  art  an  honest  lad,  Frank,"  answered  the  old 
woman,  "but  e'en  too  kind  for  thy  trade;  thy  tender 
heart  will  get  thee  into  trouble.  I  will  see  ye  gang  up 
Holborn  Hill  backward,  and  a'  on  the  word  of  some  silly 
loon  that  could  never  hae  rapped  to  ye  had  ye  drawn  your 
knife  across  his  weasand." 

"You  may  be  baulked  there,  old  one,"  answered  the 
robber;  "I  have  known  many  a  pretty  lad  cut  short  in 
his  first  summer  upon  the  road,  because  he  was  something 
hasty  with  his  flats  and  sharps.  Besides,  a  man  would 
fain  live  out  his  two  years  with  a  good  conscience.  So, 
tell  me  what  all  this  is  about,  and  what's  to  be  done  for 
you  that  one  can  do  decently?" 

"Why,  you  must  know,  Frank — ^but  first  taste  a  snap 
of  right  Hollands."  She  drew  a  flask  from  her  pocket, 
and  filled  the  fellow  a  large  bumper,  which  he  pronounced 
to  be  the  right  thing. — "You  must  know,  then,  Frank — 
wunna  ye  mend  your  hand?"  again  ottering  the  flask. 

"No,  no — when  a  woman  wants  mischief  from  you,  she 
always  begins  by  filling  you  drunk.  D — n  all  Dutch 
courage.  What  I  do  I  will  do  soberly — I'll  last  the  longer 
for  that  too." 

"Well,  then,  you  must  know,"  resumed  the  old  woman, 
without  any  farther  attempts  at  propitiation,  "that  this 
girl  is  going  to  London." 

Here  Jeanie  could  only  distinguish  the  word  "sister." 

The  robber  answered  in  a  louder  tone,  "Fair  enough 
that;   and  what  the  devil  is  your  business  with  it?" 

"Business  enough,  I  think.  If  the  b —  queers  the 
noose,  that  silly  cull  will  marry  her." 

"And  who  cares  if  he  does?"  said  the  man. 

"Who  cares,  ye  donnard  Neddie?  I  care;  and  I  will 
strangle  her  with  my  own  hands,  rather  than  she  should 
come  to  Madge's  preferment." 

"Madge's  preferment?  Does  your  old  blind  eyes  see 
no  farther  than  that?  If  he  is  as  you  say,  d'ye  think 
he'll  ever  marry  a  moon-calf  like  Madge?  Ecod,  that's 
a  good  one — Marry  Madge  Wildfire ! — Ha !  ha !  ha  !" 

"Hark  ye,  ye  crack-rope  padder,  born  beggar,  and  bred 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  353 

thief!"  replied  the  hag,  "suppose  he  never  marries  the 
wench,  is  that  a  reason  he  should  marry  another,  and 
that  other  to  hold  my  daughters  place,  and  she  crazed, 
and  I  a  beggar,  and  all  along  of  him?  But  I  know  that 
of  him  will  hang  him — I  know  that  of  him  will  hang 
him,  if  he  had  a  thousand  lives — I  know  that  of  him  will 
hang — hang — hang  him!'' 

She  grinned  as  she  repeated  and  dwelt  upon  the  fatal 
monosyllable,  with  the  emphasis  of  a  vindictive  fiend. 

"Then  why  don't  you  hang — hang — hang  him?"  said 
Frank,  repeating  her  words  contemptuously.  "There 
would  be  more  sense  in  that,  than  in  wreaking  yourself 
here  upon  two  wenches  that  have  done  you  and  your 
daughter  no  ill." 

"No  ill?"  answered  the  old  woman — "and  he  to  marry 
this  jail-bird,  if  ever  she  gets  her  foot  loose!" 

"But  as  there  is  no  chance  of  his  marrying  a  bird  of 
your  brood,  I  cannot,  for  my  soul,  see  what  you  have  to 
do  with  all  this,"  again  replied  the  robber,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  "Where  there  is  aught  to  be  got,  I'll  go  as 
far  as  my  neighbors,  but  I  hate  mischief  for  mischief's 
sake." 

"And  would  you  go  nae  length  for  revenge?"  said  the 
hag — "for  revenge,  the  sweetest  morsel  to  the  mouth  that 
ever  was  cooked  in  hell!" 

"The  devil  may  keep  it  for  his  own  eating,  then,"  said 
the  robber;  "for  hang  me  if  I  like  the  sauce  he  dresses 
it  with." 

"Revenge!"  continued  the  old  woman;  "why,  it  is  the 
best  reward  the  devil  gives  us  for  our  time  here  and  here- 
after. I  have  wrought  hard  for  it — I  have  sutlerod  for 
it,  and  I  have  sinned  for  it — and  I  will  have  it, — or  there 
is  neither  justice  in  heaven  nor  in  hell!" 

Levitt  had  by  this  time  lighted  a  pipe,  and  was  listen- 
ing with  great  c()nii)osure  to  the  frantic  and  vindictive 
ravings  of  the  old  hag.  He  was  too  much  hardened  by 
his  course  of  life  to  be  shocked  with  them — too  indiffer- 
ent, and  probably  too  stupid,  to  catch  any  i)art  of  their 
animation  or  energy.  ''But,  mother,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause,  "still  I  say,  that  if  revenge  is  your  wish,  you 
should  take  it  on  the  young  fellow  himself." 


354  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

"I  wish  I  could,"  she  said,  drawing  in  her  breath,  with 
the  eagerness  of  a  thirsty  person  while  mimicking  the 
action  of  drinking — "I  wish  I  could  ! — but  no — I  cannot 
— I  cannot !" 

"And  why  not? — You  would  think  little  of  peaching 
and  hanging  him  for  this  Scotch  affair. — Rat  me,  one 
might  have  milled  the  Bank  of  England,  and  less  noise 
about  it." 

"I  have  nursed  him  at  this  withered  breast,"  answered 
the  old  woman,  folding  her  hands  on  her  bosom,  as  if 
pressing  an  infant  to  it,  "and  though  he  has  provr-^  an 
adder  to  me — though  he  has  been  the  destruction  of  me 
and  mine — though  he  has  made  me  company  for  the  devil, 
if  there  be  a  devil,  and  food  for  hell,  if  there  be  such  a 
place,  yet  I  cannot  take  his  life — No,  I  cannot,"  she  con- 
tinued, with  an  appearance  of  rage  against  herself;  *T 
have  thought  of  it — I  have  tried  it — but,  Francis  Levitt, 
I  canna  gang  through  wi't! — Na,  na — he  was  the  first 
bairn  I  ever  nurst — ill  I  had  been — but  man  can  never 
ken  what  woman  feels  for  the  bairn  she  has  held  first  to 
her  bosom!" 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Levitt,  "we  have  no  experience. 
But,  mother,  they  say  you  ha'n't  been  so  kind  to  other 
bairns,  as  you  call  them,  that  have  come  in  your  way. — 
Nay,  d — n  me,  never  lay  your  hand  on  the  whittle,  for 
I  am  captain  and  leader  here,  and  I  will  have  no  rebel- 
lion." 

The  hag,  whose  first  motion  had  been,  upon  hearing 
the  question,  to  grasp  the  haft  of  a  large  knife,  now  un- 
closed her  hand,  stole  it  away  from  the  weapon,  and  suf- 
fered it  to  fall  by  her  side,  while  she  proceeded  with  a 
sort  of  smile — "Bairns !  ye  are  joking,  lad,  wha  wad  touch 
bairns?  Madge,  puir  thing,  had  a  misfortune  wi'  ane — 
and  the  t'other" — Here  her  voice  sunk  so  much,  that 
Jeanie,  though  anxiously  upon  the  watch,  could  not  catch 
a  word  she  said,  until  she  raised  her  tone  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  sentence — "So  Madge,  in  her  daffin',  threw 
it  into  the  Nor'-loch,  I  trow." 

Madge,  whose  slumbers,  like  those  of  most  who  labor 
under  mental  malady,  had  been  short  and  were  easily 
broken,  now  made  herself  heard  from  her  place  of  repose. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  355 

"Indeed,  mother,  that's  a  great  lee,  for  I  did  nae  sic 
thing." 

''Hush,  thou  hellicat  devil,"  said  her  mother — "By 
Heaven !  the  other  wench  will  be  waking  too !" 

"That  niay  be  dangerous,"  said  Frank;  and  he  rose  and 
followed  Meg  Murdockson  across  the  floor. 

"Rise,"  said  the  hag  to  her  daughter,  "or  I  sail  drive 
the  knife  between  the  planks  into  the  Bedlam  back  of 
thee!" 

Apparently  she  at  the  same  time  seconded  hqr  threat, 
by  pricking  her  with  the  point  of  a  knife,  for  Madge, 
with  a  faint  scream,  changed  her  place,  and  the  door 
opened. 

The  old  woman  held  a  candle  in  one  hand,  and  a  knife 
in  the  other.  Levitt  appeared  behind  her;  whether  with 
a  view  of  preventing,  or  assisting  her  in  any  violence 
she  might  meditate,  could  not  be  well  guessed.  Jeanie's 
presence  of  mind  stood  her  friend  in  this  dreadful  crisis. 
She  had  resolution  enough  to  maintain  the  attitude  and 
manner  of  one  who  sleeps  profoundly,  and  to  regulate 
even  her  breathing,  notwithstanding  the  agitation  of  in- 
stant terror,  so  as  to  correspond  with  her  attitude. 

The  old  woman  passed  the  light  across  her  eyes;  and 
although  Jeanie's  fears  were  so  powerfully  awakened  by 
this  movement,  that  she  often  declared  afterward,  that 
she  thought  she  saw  the  figures  of  her  destined  murderers 
through  her  closed  eyelids,  she  had  still  the  resolution  to 
maintain  the  feint,  on  which  her  safety  perhaps  depended. 

Levitt  looked  at  her  wn'th  fixed  attention;  he  then 
turned  the  old  woman  out  of  the  place,  and  followed  her 
himself.  Having  regained  the  outer  apartment,  and 
seated  themselves,  Jeanie  heard  the  highwayman  say,  to 
her  no  small  relief,  "She's  as  fast  as  if  she  were  in  Bed- 
fordshire.— Now,  old  Meg,  d — n  me,  if  I  can  understand 
a  glim  of  this  story  of  yours,  or  what  good  it  will  do 
you  to  hang  the  one  wench,  and  torment  the  other;  but, 
rat  me,  I  will  be  true  to  my  friend,  and  serve  ye  the  way 
ye  like  it.  I  see  it  will  be  a  bad  job;  but  I  do  think  I 
could  get  her  down  to  Surflect  on  the  Wash,  and  so  on 
board  Tom  ^foonshine's  neat  lugger,  and  keep  her  out 
of  the  way  three  or  four  weeks,  if  that  will  please  ye? — 


356  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

But  d — n  me  if  any  one  shall  harm  her,  unless  they  have 
a  mind  to  choke  on  a  brace  of  blue  plums. — It's  a  cruel 
bad  job,  and  I  wish  you  and  it,  Meg,  were  both  at  the 
devil." 

"Never  mind,  hinny  Levitt,"  said  the  old  woman;  "you 
are  a  rufEer,  and  will  have  a'  your  ain  gate — She  shanna 
gang  to  heaven  an  hour  sooner  for  me;  Icarena  whether 
she  live  or  die — it's  her  sister — ay,  her  sister!" 

"Well,  we'll  say  no  more  about  it,  I  hear  Tom  coming 
in.  We'll  couch  a  hogshead,  and  so  better  had  you." 
They  retired  to  repose,  accordingly,  and  all  was  silent  in 
this  asylum  of  iniquity. 

Jeanie  lay  for  a  long  time  awake.  At  break  of  day 
she  heard  the  two  ruffians  leave  the  barn,  after  whisper- 
ing with  the  old  woman  for  some  time.  The  sense  that 
she  was  now  guarded  only  by  persons  of  her  own  sex 
gave  her  some  confidence,  and  irresistible  lassitude  at 
length  threw  her  into  slumber. 

When  the  captive  awakened,  the  sun  was  high  in 
heaven,  and  the  morning  considerably  advanced.  Madge 
Wildfire  was  still  in  the  hovel  which  had  served  them  for 
the  night,  and  immediately  bid  her  good  morning,  with 
her  usual  air  of  insane  glee.  "And  d'ye  ken,  lass,"  said 
Madge,  "there's  queer  things  chanced  since  ye  hae  been  in 
the  land  of  Nod.  The  constables  hae  been  here,  w«man, 
and  they  met  wi'  my  minnie  at  the  door,  and  they  whirl'd 
her  awa  to  the  Justice's  about  the  man's  wheat. — Dear! 
thae  English  churls  think  as  muckle  about  a  blade  of 
wheat  or  grass,  as  a  Scots  laird  does  about  his  maukins 
and  his  muir-poots.  Now,  lass,  if  ye  like,  we'll  play  them 
a  fine  jink;  we  will  awa  out  and  take  a  walk — they  will 
make  unco  wark  when  they  miss  us,  but  we  can  easily 
be  back  by  dinner-time,  or  before  dark  night  at  ony  rate, 
and  it  will  be  some  frolic  and  fresh  air. — But  maybe  ye 
wad  like  to  take  some  breakfast,  and  then  lie  down  again  ? 
I  ken  by  mysell,  there's  whiles  I  can  sit  wi'  my  head  on 
my  hand  the  haill  day,  and  havena  a  word  to  cast  at  a 
dog — and  other  whiles-  that  I  canna  sit  still  a  moment. 
That's  when  the  folk  think  me  warst,  but  I  am  aye  canny 
eneugh — ye  needna  be  feared  to  walk  wi'  me." 

Had  Madge  Wildfire  been  the  most  raging  lunatic,  in- 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  357 

stead  of  possessing  a  doubtful,  uncertain,  and  twilight 
sort  of  rationality,  varying,  probably,  from  the  influence 
of  the  most  trivial  causes,  Jeanie  would  hardly  have  ob- 
jected to  leave  a  place  of  captivity  whore  she  had  so  much 
to  apprehend.  She  eagerly  assured  ^ladge  that  she  had 
no  occasion  for  farther  sleep,  no  desire  whatever  for  eat- 
ing; and  hoping  internally  that  she  was  not  guilty  of  sin 
in  doing  so,  she  flattered  her  keeper's  crazy  humor  for 
walking  in  the  woods. 

"It's  no  a'thegither  for  that  neither,"  said  poor  Madge; 
"but  I  am  judging  ye  will  wun  the  better  out  o'  thae 
folk's  hands :  no  that  they  are  a'thegither  bad  folk  neither, 
but  they  have  queer  ways  wi'  them,  and  I  whiles  dinna 
think  it  has  been  ever  very  weel  wi'  my  mother  and  me 
since  we  kept  siclike  company." 

With  the  haste,  the  joy,  the  fear,  and  the  hope  of  a 
liberated  captive,  Jeanie  snatched  up  her  little  bundle, 
followed  Madge  into  the  free  air,  and  eagerly  looked 
round  her  for  a  human  habitation ;  but  none  was  to  be  seen. 
The  ground  was  partly  cultivated,  and  partly  left  in  its 
natural  state,  according  as  the  fancy  of  the  slovenly  agri- 
culturists nad  decided.  In  its  natural  state  it  was  wa-ste, 
in  some  places  covered  with  dwarf  trees  and  bushes,  in 
otiiers  swamp,  and  elsewhere  firm  and  dry  downs  or  pas- 
ture grounds. 

Jeanie's  active  mind  next  led  her  to  conjecture  which 
way  the  highroad  lay,  whence  she  had  been  forced.  If 
she  regained  that  public  road,  she  imagined  she  must  soon 
meet  some  person,  or  arrive  at  some  house,  where  she 
might  tell  her  story,  and  request  protection.  But  after 
a  glance  around  hor.  she  saw  with  regret  that  she  had  no 
means  whatever  f»f  directing  her  course  with  any  degree 
of  certainty,  and  that  she  was  still  in  dependence  upon 
her  crazy  cf»mpanion.  "Shall  we  not  walk  upon  the  high- 
road?" said  she  to  Madge,  in  such  a  tone  as  a  nurse  uses 
to  coax  a  child.  "It's  brawer  walking  on  the  road  than 
amang  thae  wild  bushes  and  whins." 

Madge,  who  was  walking  very  fast,  stopped  at  this 
question,  and  looked  at  Jeanie  with  a  sudden  and  scrutin- 
izing glance,  that  seemed  to  indicate  complete  acquain- 
tance with  her  purpose.     "Aha,  lass!"  she  exclaimed,  "are 


358  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

ye  gaun  to  guide  us  that  gate? — Ye'll  be  for  making  your 
heels  save  your  head,  I  am  judging." 

Jeanie  hesitated  for  a  moment,  on  hearing  her  com- 
panion thus  express  herself,  whether  she  had  not  better 
take  the  hint,  and  try  to  outstrip  and  get  rid  of  her.  But 
she  knew  not  in  which  direction  to  fly;  she  was  by  no 
means  sure  that  she  would  prove  the  swiftest,  and  per- 
fectly conscious  that,  in  the  event  of  her  being  pursued 
and  overtaken,  she  would  be  inferior  to  the  madwoman 
in  strength.  She  therefore  gave  up  thoughts  for  the 
present  of  attempting  to  escape  in  that  manner,  and, 
saying  a  few  words  to  allay  Madge's  suspicions,  she  fol- 
lowed in  anxious  apprehension  the  wayward  path  by 
which  her  guide  thought  proper  to  lead  her.  Madge,  in- 
firm of  purpose,  and  easily  reconciled  to  the  present 
scene,  whatever  it  was,  began  soon  to  talk  with  her  usual 
diffuseness  of  ideas. 

"It's  a  dainty  thing  to  be  in  the  woods  on  a  fine  morn- 
ing like  this — I  like  it  far  better  than  the  town,  for  there 
isna  a  wheen  duddie  bairns  to  be  crying  after  ane,  as  if 
ane  were  a  warld's  wonder,  just  because  ane  maybe  is  a 
thought  bonnier  and  better  put-on  than  their  neighbors — 
though,  Jeanie,  ye  suld  never  be  proud  o'  braw  claiths, 
or  beauty  neither — waes  me!  they're  but  a  snare.  I  ance 
thought  better  o'  them,  and  what  came  o't  ?" 

"Are  ye  sure  ye  ken  the  way  ye  are  taking  us?"  said 
Jeanie,  who  began  to  imagine  that  she  was  getting  deeper 
into  the  woods,  and  more  remote  from  the  highroad. 

"Do  I  ken  the  road  ? — Wasna  I  mony  a  day  living  here, 
and  whatfor  shouldna  I  ken  the  road? — I  might  hae  for- 
gotten, too,  for  it  was  afore  my  accident;  but  there  are 
some  things  ane  can  never  forget,  let  them  try  it  as 
muckle  as  they  like." 

By  this  time  they  had  gained  the  deepest  part  of  a 
patch  of  woodland.  The  trees  were  a  little  separated 
from  each  other,  and  at  the  foot  of  one  of  them,  a  beau- 
tiful poplar,  was  a  variegated  hillock  of  wild  flowers  and 
moss,  such  as  the  poet  of  Grasmere  has  described  in  his 
verses  on  the  Thorn.  So  soon  as  she  arrived  at  this  spot, 
Madge  Wildfire,  joining  her  hands  above  her  head,  with 
a  loud  scream  that  resembled  laughter,  flung  herself  all 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  .'.59 

at  once  upon  the  spot,  and  remained  lying  there  motion- 
less. 

Jeanie's  first  idea  was  to  take  the  opportunity  of  flight; 
hut  her  desire  to  escape  yielded  for  a  moment  to  appre- 
hension for  the  poor  insane  being,  who,  she  thought, 
might  perish  for  want  of  relief.  With  an  effort,  which, 
in  her  circumstances,  might  be  termed  heroic,  she  stooped 
d<;)wn,  spoke  in  a  soothing  tone,  and  endeavored  to  raise 
up  the  forlorn  creature.  She  effected  this  with  difficulty, 
and,  as  she  placed  her  against  the  tree  in  a  sitting  posture, 
she  observed  with  surj^rise,  that  her  complexion,  usually 
florid,  was  now  deadly  pale,  and  that  her  face  was  bathed 
in  tears.  Notwithstanding  her  own  extreme  danger, 
Jeanie  was  affected  by  the  situation  of  her  companion; 
and  the  rather,  that  through  the  whole  train  of  her  waver- 
ing and  inconsistent  state  of  mind  and  line  of  conduct, 
she  discerned  a  general  color  of  kindness  toward  herself, 
for  which  she  felt  grateful. 

"Let  me  alane ! — let  me  alane !"  said  the  poor  young 
woman,  as  her  paroxysm  of  sorrow  began  to  abate — '*Let 
me  alane,  it  does  me  good  to  weep.  I  canna  shed  tears 
but  maybe  anes  or  twice  a  year,  and  I  aye  come  to  wet 
this  turf  with  them,  that  the  flowers  may  grow  fair,  and 
the  grass  may  be  green." 

*'But  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  said  Jeanie — "Why 
do  you  weep  so  bitterly?'' 

''There's  matter  enow,"  replied  the  lunatic, — ''mair 
than  a  puir  mind  can  bear,  I  trow.  Stay  a  bit,  and  I'll 
tell  you  a'  about  it ;  for  I  like  ye,  Jeanie  Deans — a'body 
spoke  weel  about  ye  when  we  lived  in  the  Pleasaunts — 
And  I  mind  aye  the  drink  o'  milk  ye  gae  me  yon  day, 
wlien  I  had  been  on  Arthur's  Seat  for  four  and  twenty 
hours,  looking  for  the  ship  that  somebody  was  sailing  in." 

These  words  recalled  to  Jeanie's  recollection,  that,  in 
fact,  she  had  been  one  morning  much  frightened  by 
meeting  a  erazy  young  woman  near  her  father's  door  at 
an  early  hour,  and  that,  as  she  appeared  to  be  harmless, 
her  apprehension  had  been  changed  into  pity,  and  she 
had  relieved  the  unhai)j)y  wanderer  with  some  food, 
which  she  devoured  with  tlie  haste  of  a  famished  person. 
The  incident,   tritlitig   in   itself,   was   at  present  of  great 


360  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

importance,  if  it  should  be  found  to  have  made  a  favor- 
able and  permanent  impression  on  the  mind  of  the  ob- 
ject of  her  charity. 

"Yes,"  said.  Madge,  "I'll  tell  ye  all  about  it,  for  ye  are 
a  decent  man's  daughter — Douce  Davie  Deans,  ye  ken — 
and  maybe  ye'll  can  teach  me  to  find  out  the  narrow  way, 
and  the  strait  path;  for  I  have  been  burning  bricks  in 
Egypt,  and  walking  through  the  weary  wilderness  of 
Sinai,  for  lang  and  mony  a  day.  But  whenever  I  think 
about  mine  errors,  I  am  like  to  cover  my  lips  for  shame." 
— Here  she  looked  up  and  smiled. — "It's  a  strange  thing 
now — I  hae  spoke  mair  gude  words  to  you  in  ten  minutes, 
than  I  wad  speak  to  my  mother  in  as  mony  years.  It's 
no  that  I  dinna  think  on  them — and  whiles  they  are  just 
at  my  tongue's  end ;  but  then  comes  the  Devil,  and  brushes 
my  lips  with  his  black  wing,  and  lays  his  broad  black  loof 
on  my  mouth — for  a  black  loof  it  is,  Jeanie — and  sweeps 
away  a'  my  gude  thoughts,  and  dits  up  my  gude  words, 
and  pits  a  wheen  fule  sangs  and  idle  vanities  in  their 
place." 

"Try,  Madge,"  said  Jeanie, — "try  to  settle  your  mind 
and  make  your  breast  clean,  and  you'll  find  your  heart 
easier — Just  resist  the  devil,  and  he  will  flee  from  you — 
and  mind  that,  as  my  worthy  father  tells  me,  there  is  nae 
devil  sae  deceitfu'  as  our  a  in  wandering  thoughts." 

"And  that's  true  too,  lass,"  said  Madge,  starting  up; 
"and  I'll  gang  a  gate  where  the  devil  daurna  follow  me; 
and  it's  a  gate  that  you  will  like  dearly  to  gang — but  I'll 
keep  a  fast  hand  o'  your  arm,  for  fear  Apollyon  should 
stride  across  the  path,  as  he  did  in  tiie  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress." 

Accordingly  she  got  up,  and,  taking  Jeanie  by  the  arm, 
began  to  walk  forward  at  a  great  pace;  and  soon,  to  her 
companion's  no  small  joy,  came  into  a  marked  path,  with 
the  meanders  of  which  she  seemed  perfectly  acquainted. 
Jeanie  endeavored  to  bring  her  back  to  the  confessional, 
but  the  fancy  was  gone  by.  In  fact,  the  mind  of  this 
deranged  being  resembled  nothing  so  much  as  a  quantity 
of  dry  leaves,  which  may  for  a  few  minutes  remain  still, 
but  are  instantly  discomposed  and  put  in  motion  by  the 
first  casual  breath  of  air.     She  had  now  got  John  Bun- 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  361 

yan's  parable  into  her  head,  to  the  exclusion  of  every- 
thinjr  else,  and  on  she  went  with  great  volubility. 

"Did  ye  never  read  the  Pilgrim's  Progress?  And  you 
shall  be  the  woman  Christiana,  and  I  will  be  the  maiden 
Mercy — for  ye  ken  Mercy  was  of  the  fairer  countenance, 
and  the  more  alluring  than  her  companion — and  if  I  had 
my  little  messan  dog  here,  it  would  be  Great-heart  their 
guide,  ye  ken,  for  he  was  e'en  as  bauld,  that  he  wad  bark 
at  onything  twenty  times  his  size;  and  that  was  e'en  the 
death  of  him,  for  he  bit  Corporal  MacAlpine's  heels  ae 
morning  when  they  were  hauling  me  to  the  guard-house, 
and  Corjioral  MacAlpine  killed  the  bit  faithfu'  thing  wi' 
his  Lochaber  axe — deil  pike  the  Highland  banes  o'  him  !*' 

''O  fie!  Madge,"  said  Jeanie,  "ye  should  not  speak  such 
words." 

"It's  very  true,"  said  Madge,  shaking  her  head;  "but 
then  I  maunna  think  on  my  puir  bit  doggie.  Snap,  when 
I  saw  it  lying  dying  in  the  gutter.  But  it's  just  as  weel, 
for  it  suffered  baith  cauld  and  hunger  when  it  was  living, 
and  in  the  grave  there  is  rest  for  a'  things — rest  for  the 
doggie,  and  my  puir  bairn,  and  me." 

"Your  bairn  f"  said  Jeanie,  conceiving  that  by  speak- 
ing on  such  a  topic,  supposing  it  to  be  a  real  one,  she 
could  not  fail  to  bring  her  companion  to  a  more  com- 
posed temper. 

She  was  mistaken,  however,  for  Madge  colored,  and 
replied  with  some  anger,  "My  bairn?  ay,  to  be  sure,  my 
bairn.  Whatfor  shouldna  I  hae  a  bairn,  and  lose  a  bairn 
too,  as  weel  as  your  bonny  tittie,  the  Lily  of  St.  Leon- 
ard's?" 

The  answer  struck  Jeanie  with  some  alarm,  and  she 
was  anxious  to  soothe  the  irritation  she  had  unwittingly 
given  occasion  to.  "I  am  very  sorry  for  your  misfor- 
tune  " 

"Sorry?  what  wad  ye  be  sorry  for?"  answered  Madge. 
"The  bairn  was  a  blessing — that  is,  Jeanie,  it  wad  hae 
been  a  blessing  if  it  hadna  been  for  my  mother;  but  my 
mothers  a  queer  woman. — Ye  see,  there  was  an  auld  carle 
wi'  a  bit  land,  and  a  gude  clat  o'  siller  besides,  just  the 
very  picture  of  old  Mr.  Feeblemind  or  ^Ir.  Keady-to-halt, 
that  Great-heart  delivered  from  Slaygood  the  giant,  when 


362  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

he  was  rifling  him  and  about  to  pick  his  bones,  for  Slay- 
good  was  of  the  nature  of  the  flesh-eaters — and  Great- 
heart  killed  Giant  Despair  too — but  I  am  doubting  Giant 
Despair's  come  alive  again,  for  a'  the  story-book — I  find 
him  busy  at  my  heart  whiles." 

"Weel,  and  so  the  auld  carle,"  said  Jeanie,  for  she  was 
painfully  interested  in  getting  to  the  truth  of  Madge's 
history,  which  she  could  not  but  suspect  was  in  some 
extraordinary  way  linked  and  entwined  with  the  fate  of 
her  sister.  She  was  also  desirous,  if  possible,  to  engage 
her  companion  in  some  narrative  which  might  be  car- 
ried on  in  a  lower  tone  of  voice,  for  she  was  in  great  ap- 
prehension lest  the  elevated  notes  of  Madge's  conversa- 
tion should  direct  her  mother  or  the  robbers  in  search  of 
them. 

''And  so  the  auld  carle,"  said  Madge,  repeating  her 
words — "I  wish  you  had  seen  him  stoiting  about,  aff  ae 
leg  on  to  the  other,  wi'  a  kind  o'  dot-and-go-one  sort  o' 
motion,  as  if  ilk  ane  o'  his  twa  legs  had  belonged  to 
sindry  folk — But  Gentle  George  could  take  him  aff 
brawly — Eh,  as  I  used  to  laugh  to  see  George  gang  hip- 
hop  like  him! — I  dinna  ken,  I  think  I  laughed  heartier 
then  than  what  I  do  now,  though  maybe  no  just  sae 
muckle." 

"And  who  was  Gentle  George?"  said  Jeanie,  endeavor- 
ing to  bring  her  back  to  her  story. 

"Oh,  he  was  Geordie  Robertson,  ye  ken,  when  he  was 
in   Edinburgh;   but   that's   no   his   right  name  neither — 

His  name  is But  what  is  your  business  wi'  his  name?" 

said  she,  as  if  upon  sudden  recollection.  "What  have  ye 
to  do  asking  for  folk's  names? — Have  ye  a  mind  I  should 
scour  my  knife  between  your  ribs,  as  my  mother  says?" 

As  this  was  spoken  with  a  menacing  tone  and  gesture, 
Jeanie  hastened  to  protest  her  total  innocence  of  pur- 
pose in  the  accidental  question  which  she  had  asked,  and 
Madge  Wildfire  went  on  somewhat  pacified. 

"Never  ask  folk's  names,  Jeanie — it's  no  civil — I  hae 
seen  half-a-dozen  o'  folk  in  my  mother's  at  anes,  and 
ne'er  ane  o'  them  ca'd  the  ither  by  his  name;  and  Daddie 
Ratton  says,  it  is  the  most  uncivil  thing  may  be,  because 
the  bailie  bodies  are  aye  asking  fashions  questions,  when 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  363 

ye  saw  sic  a  man.  or  sic  a  man;  and  if  ye  dinna  ken  their 
names,  ye  ken  there  can  be  nae  mair  speer'd  about  it." 

In  what  strangre  school,  thought  Jeanie  to  herself,  has 
this  poor  creature  been  bred  up,  where  such  remote  pre- 
cauti'ons  are  taken  against  the  pursuits  of  justice?  What 
would  my  father  or  Reuben  Butler  think,  if  I  were  to 
tell  them  there  are  sic  folk  in  the  world?  And  to  abuse 
the  simplicity  of  this  demented  creature!  Oh,  that  I 
were  but  safe  at  hame  amang  mine  ain  leal  and  true 
people!  and  I'll  bless  God,  while  I  have  breath,  that 
placed  me  amongst  those  who  live  in  His  fear,  and  un- 
der the  shadow  of  His  wing. 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  insane  laugh  of  Madge 
Wildfire,  as  she  saw  a  magpie  hop  across  the  path. 

"See  there! — that  was  the  gait  my  old  joe  used  to  cross 
the  country,  but  no  just  sae  lightly — he  hadna  wings  to 
help  his  auld  legs,  I  trow;  but  I  behoved  to  have  mar- 
ried him  for  a'  that,  Jeanie,  or  my  mother  would  have 
been  the  dead  o'  me.  But  then  came  in  the  story  of  my 
poor  bairn,  and  my  mother  thought  he  wad  be 
deaved  wi'  its  skirling,  and  she  pat  it  away  in  be- 
low the  bit  bourock  of  turf  yonder,  just  to  be  out  o' 
the  gate;  and  1  think  she  buried  my  best  wits  with  it, 
for  I  have  never  been  just  mysell  since.  And  only  think, 
Jeanie,  after  my  mother  had  been  at  a'  this  pains,  the 
auld  doited  body  Johnny  Drottle  turned  up  his  nose,  and 
wadna  hae  aught  to  say  to  me!  But  it's  little  I  care  for 
him,  for  I  have  led  a  merry  life  ever  since,  and  ne'er  a 
braw  gentleman  looks  at  me  but  ye  wad  think  he  was 
gaun  to  drop  off  his  horse  for  mere  love  of  me.  T  have 
kend  some  o'  them  put  their  hand  in  their  pocket,  and 
gie  me  as  muckle  as  sixpence  at  a  time,  just  for  my  weel- 
faured  face." 

This  speech  gave  Jeanie  a  dark  insight  into  Madge's 
history.  She  had  been  courted  by  a  wealthy  suitor,  whose 
addresses  her  mother  had  favored,  notwithstanding  the 
objection  of  old  age  and  deformity.  She  had  been  se- 
duced by  some  profligate,  and,  to  conceal  her  shame  and 
promote  the  advantageous  match  she  had  planned,  her 
mother  had  not  hesitated  to  destroy  the  otTspring  of  their 
intrigue.     That  the  consequence  should  be  the  total  de- 


364  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

rangement  of  a  mind  which  was  constitutionally  unset- 
tled by  giddiness  and  vanity,  was  extremely  natural;  and 
such  was,  in  fact,  the  history  of  Madge  Wildfire's  in- 
sanity. 

CHAPTER  XXXI 

So    free    from    danger,    free    from    fear, 
They  cross'd  the  court — right  glad  they  were. 

Christabel. 

Pursuing  the  path  which  Madge  had  chosen,  Jeanie  Deans 
observed,  to  her  no  small  delight,  that  marks  of  more 
cultivation  appeared,  and  the  thatched  roofs  of  houses, 
with  their  blue  smoke  arising  in  little  columns,  were 
seen  embosomed  in  a  tuft  of  trees  at  some  distance.  The 
track  led  in  that  direction,  and  Jeanie  therefore  resolved, 
while  Madge  continued  to  pursue  it,  that  she  would  ask 
her  no  questions;  having  had  the  penetration  to  observe, 
that  by  doing  so  she  ran  the  risk  of  irritating  her  guide, 
or  awakening  suspicions,  to  the  impressions  of  which, 
persons  in  Madge's  unsettled  state  of  mind  are  partic- 
ularly liable. 

Madge,  therefore,  uninterrupted,  went  on  with  the 
wild  disjointed  chat  which  her  rambling  imagination  sug- 
gested; a  mood  in  which  she  was  much  more  communi- 
cative respecting  her  own  history,  and  that  of  others, 
than  when  there  was  any  attempt  made,  by  direct  queries, 
or  cross-examinations,  to  extract  information  on  these 
subjects. 

"It's  a  queer  thing,"  she  said,  "but  whiles  I  can  speak 
about  the  bit  bairn  and  the  rest  of  it,  just  as  if  it  had 
been  another  body's,  and  no  my  ain;  and  whiles  I  am  like 
to  break  my  heart  about  it — Had  you  ever  a  bairn, 
Jeanie?" 

Jeanie   replied   in   the   negative. 

"Ay ;  but  your  sister  had,  though — and  I  ken  what  came 
o't  too." 

"In  the  name  of  heavenly  mercy,"  said  Jeanie,  for- 
getting the  line  of  conduct  which  she  had  hitherto 
adopted,  "tell  me  but  what  became  of  that  unfortunate 
babe,  and " 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  365 

iMadge  stopped,  looked  at  her  gravely  and  fixedly,  and 
then  broke  into  a  great  fit  of  laughing — "Aha,  lass, — 
catch  me  if  you  can — I  think  it's  easy  to  gar  you  trow 
onything. — How  suld  I  ken  onything  o'  your  sister's  wean? 
Lasses  suld  hae  naething  to  do  wi'  weans  till  they  are 
married — and  then  a'  the  gossips  and  cummers  come  in 
and  feast  as  if  it  were  the  blithest  day  in  the  warld. — 
They  say  maidens'  bairns  are  well  guided.  I  wot  that 
wasna  true  of  your  tittie's  and  mine;  but  these  are  sad 
tales  to  tell — I  maun  just  sing  a  bit  to  keep  up  my  heart 
— It's  a  sang  that  gentle  George  made  on  me  lang  syne, 
when  I  went  with  him  to  Lockington  wake,  to  see  him  act 
upon  a  stage,  in  fine  clothes,  with  the  player  folk.  He 
might  have  dune  waur  than  married  me  that  night  as  he 
promised — better  wed  over  the  mixen  as  over  the  moor,* 
as  they  say  in  Yorkshire — he  may  gan^  farther  and  fare 
waur — but  that's  a'  ane  to  the  sang, — 

."  'I'm  Madge  of  the  country.  I'm  Madge  of  the  town, 
And  I'm  Madge  of  the  lad  I  am  blithest  to  own — 
The  Lady  of  Beever  in  diamonds  may  shine, 
But  has  not  a  heart  lialf  so  lightsome  as  mine. 

'I  am  Queen  of  the  Wake,  and  I'm  Lady  of  May. 
And  I  lead  the  blitlie  ring  round  the  May-pole  to-day; 
The  wild-firr'  that  flashes  so  fair  and  so  free, 
Was  never  so  bright,  or  so  bonny  as  me.' 

'T  like  that  the  best  o'  a'  my  sangs,"  continued  tho 
maniac,  "because  lie  made  it.  I  am  often  singing  it,  and 
that's  maybe  the  reason  folk  ca'  me  Madge  W^ildfire.  T 
aye  answer  to  the  name,  though  it's  no  my  ain,  for  what's 
the  use  o'  making  a  fash  i'" 

"But  ye  shouldna  sing  upon  the  Sabbath  at  least."' 
said  Jeanie,  wh(»,  amid  all  her  distress  and  anxiety,  could 
not  help  being  soan<lalized  at  the  deportment  of  her  com- 
panion, espof'ially  as  they  now  approached  near  to  the 
little  village. 

"Ay!  is  this  Sunday?"  said  Madge.     "My  mother  leads 

•  A  homely  proverb,  signifying,  better  wed  a  neighbor  than  one 
fetched    from   a    di'itanre. 


366  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

sic  a  life,  wi'  turning  night  into  day,  that  ane  loses  a' 
count  o'  the  days  o'  the  week,  and  disna  ken  Sunday  frae 
Saturday.  Besides,  it's  a'  your  whiggery — in  England, 
folk  sing  when  they  like — And  then,  ye  ken,  you  are 
Christiana,  and  I  am  Mercy — and  ye  ken,  as  they  went 
on  their  way,  they  sang." — And  she  immediately  raised 
one  of  John  Bunyan's  ditties : — 

"  'He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall, 
He  that  is  low  no  pride; 
He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 
Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

'Fulness  to  such  a  burthen  is 

That  go  on  pilgrimage; 
Here  little,  and  hereafter  bliss, 
Is  best  from  age  to  age.' 

"And  do  ye  ken,  Jeanie,  I  think  there's  much  truth  in 
that  book,  the  Pilgrim's  Progress.  The  boy  that  sings 
that  song  was  feeding  his  father's  sheep  in  the  Valley 
of  Humiliation,  and  Mr.  Great-heart  says,  that  he  lived 
a  merrier  life,  and  had  more  of  the  herb  called  heart's- 
ease  in  his  bosom,  than  they  that  wear  silk  and  velvet 
like  me,  and  are  as  bonny  as  I  am." 

Jeanie  Deans  had  never  read  the  fanciful  and  delight- 
ful parable  to  which  Madge  alluded.  Bunyan  was,  indeed, 
a  rigid  Calvinist,  but  then  he  was  also  a  member  of  a 
Baptist  congregation,  so  that  his  works  had  no  place  on 
David  Deans's  shelf  of  divinity.  Madge,  however,  at 
some  time  of  her  life,  had  been  well  acquainted,  as  it  ap- 
peared, with  the  most  popular  of  his  performances,  which, 
indeed,  rarely  fails  to  make  a  deep  impression  upon 
children,  and  people  of  the  lower  rank. 

'T  am  sure,"  she  continued,  "I  may  weel  say  I  am  come 
out  of  the  city  of  Destruction,  for  my  mother  is  Mrs. 
Bat's-eyes,  that  dwells  at  Deadman's  Corner;  and  Frank 
Levitt,  and  Tyburn  Tam,  they  may  be  likened  to  Mistrust 
and  Guilt,  that  came  galloping  up,  and  struck  the  poor 
pilgrim  to  the  ground  with  a  great  club,  and  stole  a  bag 
of  silver,  which  was  most  of  his  spending  money,  and  so 
have  tViev  done  to  many,  and  will  rlo  to  more.     But  now 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTIIIAN  367 

we  will  pang  to  the  Interpreter's  house,  for  I  ken  a  man 
that  will  play  the  Interpreter  right  weel;  for  he  has  eyes 
lifted  up  to  heaven,  the  best  of  books  in  his  hand,  the  law 
of  truth  written  on  his  lips,  and  he  stands  as  if  he  pleaded 
wi'  men — Oh,  if  I  had  minded  what  he  had  said  to  me,  I 
had  never  been  the  castaway  creature  that  I  am! — But  it 
is  all  over  now. — But  we'll  knock  at  the  gate,  and  then 
the  keeper  will  admit  Christiana,  but  ^Mercy  will  be  left 
out — and  then  I'll  stand  at  the  door  trembling  and  crying, 
and  then  Christiana — that's  you,  Jeanie — will  interced*/ 
for  me;  and  then  Mercy — that's  me,  ye  ken — will  faint ji 
and  then  the  Interpreter — yes,  the  Interpreter,  that's  Mr. 
Staunton  himself,  will  come  out  and  take  me — that's  poor, 
lost,  demented  me — by  the  hand,  and  give  me  a  pome- 
granate, and  a  piece  of  honeycomb,  and  a  small  bottle  of 
spirits,  to  stay  my  fainting — and  then  the  good  times  will 
come  back  again,  and  w^e'll  be  the  happiest  folk  you  ever 
saw." 

In  the  midst  of  the  confused  assemblage  of  ideas  indi- 
cated in  this  speech,  Jeanie  thought  she  saw  a  serious 
puri)ose  on  the  part  of  Madge,  to  endeavor  to  obtain  the 
pardon  and  countenance  of  some  one  whom  she  had 
offended;  an  attempt  the  most  likely  of  all  others  to  bring 
them  once  more  into  contact  with  law  and  legal  jDrotection. 
She,  therefore,  resolved  to  be  guided  by  her  while  she 
was  in  so  hopeful  a  disposition,  and  act  for  her  own  safety 
according  to   circumstances. 

They  were  now  close  by  the  village,  one  of  those  beauti- 
ful scenes  which  are  so  often  found  in  merry  England, 
where  the  cottages,  instead  of  being  built  in  two  direct 
lines  on  each  side  of  a  dusty  highroad,  stand  in  detached 
groups,  interspersed  not  only  with  large  oaks  and  elms, 
but  with  fruit-trees,  so  many  of  which  were  at  this  time  in 
flourish,  that  the  grove  seemed  enamelled  with  their 
crimson  and  white  blossoms.  In  the  centre  of  the  hamlet 
stood  the  i)arish  church  and  its  little  Oothic  tower,  from 
which  at  present  was  heard   the  Sunday  chime  of  bells. 

"We  will  wait  here  until  tli«'  folk  are  a'  in  the  church — ■ 
they  ca'  the  kirk  a  church  in  England,  Jeanie,  be  sure 
you  mind  that — for  if  I  was  gaun  forward  amang  them, 
a'  the  gaitts  o'  boys  and  lasses  wad  be  crying  at   ^[adge 


368  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Wildfire's  tail,  the  little  hellrakers !  and  the  beadle  would 
be  as  hard  upon  us  as  if  it  was  our  fault.  I  like  their 
skirling  as  ill  as  he  does,  I  can  tell  him;  I'm  sure  I  often 
wish  there  was  a  het  peat  doun  their  throats  when  they 
set  them  up  that  gate." 

Conscious  of  the  disorderly  appearance  of  her  own 
dress  after  the  adventure  of  the  preceding  night,  and  of 
the  grotesque  habit  and  demeanor  of  her  guide,  and 
sensible  how  important  it  was  to  secure  an  attentive  and 
patient  audience  to  her  strange  story  from  some  one  who 
might  have  the  means  to  protect  her,  Jeanie  readily  ac- 
quiesced in  Madge's  proposal  to  rest  under  the  trees,  by 
which  they  were  still  somewhat  screened,  until  the  com- 
mencement of  service  should  give  them  an  opportunity 
of  entering  the  hamlet  without  attracting  a  crowd  around 
them.  She  made  the  less  opposition,  that  Madge  had 
intimated  that  this  was  not  the  village  where  her  mother 
was  in  custody,  and  that  the  two  squires  of  the  pad  were 
absent  in  a  different  direction. 

She  sate  herself  down,  therefore,  at  the  foot  of  an  oak, 
and  by  the  assistance  of  a  placid  fountain  which  had  been 
dammed  up  for  the  use  of  the  villagers,  and  which  served 
her  as  a  natural  mirror,  she  began — no  uncommon  thing 
with  a  Scottish  m^den  of  her  rank — to  arrange  her 
toilette  in  the  open  air,  and  bring  her  dress,  soiled  and 
disordered  as  it  was,  into  such  order  as  the  place  and 
circumstances  admitted. 

She  soon  perceived  reason,  however,  to  regret  that  she 
had  set  about  this  task,  however  decent  and  necessary,  in 
the  present  time  and  society.  Madge  Wildfire,  who,  among 
other  indications  of  insanity,  had  a  most  overweening 
opinion  of  those  charms,  to  which,  in  fact,  she  had  owed 
her  misery,  and  whose  mind,  like  a  raft  upon  a  lake,  was 
agitated  and  driven  about  at  random  by  each  fresh  im- 
pulse, no  sooner  beheld  Jeanie  begin  to  arrange  her  hair, 
place  her  bonnet  in  order,  rub  the  dust  from  her  shoes 
and  clothes,  adjust  her  neck-handkerchief  and  mittens, 
and  so  forth,  than  with  imitative  zeal  she  began  to  bedizen 
and  trick  herself  out  with  shreds  and  remnants  of  beg- 
garly finery,  which  she  took  out  of  a  little  bundle,  and 
which,  when  disposed  around  her  person,  made  her  ap- 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  369 

pearancc  ten  times  more  fantastic  and  apish  than  it  had 
been  before. 

Jeanie  groaned  in  spirit,  but  dared  not  interfere  in  a 
matter  so  delicate.  Across  the  man's  cap  or  riding  hat 
which  she  wore,  Madge  placed  a  broken  and  soiled  white 
feather,  intersected  with  one  which  had  been  shed  from 
the  train  of  a  peacock.  To  her  dress,  which  was  a  kind 
of  riding-habit,  she  stitched,  pinned,  and  otherwise  se- 
cured, a  large  furbelow  of  artificial  flowers,  all  crushed, 
wrinkled,  and  dirty,  which  had  flrst  bedecked  a  lady  of 
quality,  then  descended  to  her  Abigail,  and  dazzled  the 
inmates  of  the  servants'-hall.  A  tawdry  scarf  of  yellow 
silk,  trimmed  with  tinsel  and  spangles,  which  had  seen  as 
hard  service,  and  boasted  as  honorable  a  transmission, 
was  next  flung  over  one  shoulder,  and  fell  across  her 
person  in  the  manner  of  a  shoulder-belt,  or  baldrick, 
Madge  then  stripped  off  the  coarse  ordinary  shoes  which 
she  wore,  and  replaced  them  by  a  pair  of  dirty  satin  ones, 
spangled  and  embroidered  to  match  the  scarf,  and  fur- 
nished with  very  high  heels.  She  had  cut  a  willow  switch 
in  her  morning's  walk,  almost  as  long  as  a  boy's  fishing- 
rod.  This  she  set  herself  seriously  to  peel,  and  when 
it  was  transformed  into  such  a  wand  as  the  Treasurer  or 
High  Steward  bears  on  public  occasions,  she  told  Jeanie 
that  she  thought  they  now  looked  decent,  as  young  women 
shr.uld  do  upon  the  Sunday  morning,  and  that  as  the  bells 
had  done  ringing,  she  was  willing  to  conduct  her  to  the 
Interi:)reter's  house. 

Jeanie  sighed  heavily,  to  think  it  should  be  her  lot  on 
the  Lord's  day,  and  during  kirk-time  too,  to  parade  the 
street  of  an  inhabited  village  with  so  very  grotesque  a 
comrade;  but  necessity  had  no  law,  since,  without  a 
positive  quarrel  with  the  madwoman,  which,  in  the  cir- 
cumstances, would  have  been  very  unadvisable,  she  could 
see  no  means  of  shaking  herself  free  of  her  society. 

As  for  poor  Madge,  she  was  completely  elated  with  per- 
sonal vanity,  and  the  most  perfect  satisfaction  concerning 
her  own  dazzling  dress,  and  superior  appearance.  They 
entered  the  hamlet  without  being  observed,  except  by  one 
old  w^oman,  who,  being  nearly  "high-gravel  blind,"  was 
only  conscious  that  something  very  fine  and  glittering 
■was  passing  by,  and  dropped  as  deep  a  reverence  to  Madge 


370  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAX 

as  she  would  have  done  to  a  Countess.  This  filled  up  the 
measure  of  Madge's  self-approbation.  She  minced,  she 
ambled,  she  smiled,  she  simpered,  and  waved  Jeanie  Deans 
forward  with  the  condescension  of  a  noble  chaperon,  who 
has  undertaken  the  charge  of  a  country  miss  on  her  first 
journey  to  the  capital. 

Jeanie  followed  in  patience,  and  with  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  ground,  that  she  might  save  herself  the  mortification 
of  seeing  her  companion's  absurdities;  but  she  started 
when,  ascending  two  or  three  steps,  she  found  herself 
in  the  churchyard,  and  saw  that  Madge  was  making 
straight  for  the  door  of  the  church.  As  Jeanie  had  no 
mind  to  enter  the  congregation  in  such  company,  she 
walked  aside  from  the  pathway,  and  said  in  a  decided 
tone,  "Madge,  I  will  wait  here  till  the  church  comes  out — 
you  may  go  in  by  yourself  if  you  have  a  mind." 

As  she  spoke  these  words,  she  was  about  to  seat  herself 
upon  one  of  the  gravestones. 

Madge  was  a  little  before  Jeanie  when  she  turned  aside ; 
but  suddenly  changing  her  course,  she  followed  her  with 
long  strides,  and,  with  every  feature  inflamed  with  pas- 
sion, overtook  and  seized  her  by  the  arm.  "Do  ye  think, 
ye  ungratefu'  wretch,  that  I  am  gaun  to  let  you  sit  doun 
upon  my  father's  grave?  The  deil  settle  ye  doun; — if  ye 
dinna  rise  and  come  into  the  Interpreter's  house,  that's 
the  house  of  God,  wi'  me,  but  I'll  rive  everv  dud  aif  your 
back!" 

She  adapted  the  action  to  the  phrase;  for  with  one 
clutch  she  stripped  Jeanie  of  her  straw  bonnet  and  a  hand- 
ful of  her  hair  to  boot,  and  threw  it  up  into  an  old  yew 
tree,  where  it  stuck  fast.  Jeanie's  first  impulse  was  to 
scream,  but  conceiving  she  might  receive  deadly  harm 
before  she  could  obtain  the  assistance  of  any  one,  not- 
withstanding the  vicinity  of  the  church,  she  thought  it 
wiser  to  follow  the  madwoman  into  the  congregation, 
where  she  might  find  some  means  of  escape  from  her,  or 
at  least  be  secured  against  her  violence.  But  when  she 
meekly  intimated  her  consent  to  follow  Madge,  her 
guide's  uncertain  brain  had  caught  another  train  of  ideas. 
She  held  Jeanie  fast  with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other 
pointed  to  the  inscription   on  the  gravestone,   and   com- 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  371 

manded  her  to   read   it.     Jeanie  obeyed,   and   read  these 
words : — 

"This  Monument  was  erected  to  the 
Memory  of  Donald  Murdockson  of  the  King's 
XXVI.,  OR  Cameronian  Regiment,  a  sincere 
Christian,  a  brave  Soldier,  and  a  faithful 
Servant,  by  his  grateful  and  sorrowing 
Master,  Robert  Staunton/' 

"It's  very  weel  read,  Jeanie;  it's  just  the  very  words," 
said  Madge,  whose  ire  had  now  faded  into  deep  melan- 
choly, and  with  a  step,  which,  to  Jeanie's  great  joy,  was 
uncommonly  quiet  and  mournful,  she  led  her  companion 
toward    the   door   of   the   church. 

It  was  one  of  those  old-fashioned  Gothic  parish  churches 
which  are  frequent  in  England,  the  most  cleanly,  decent, 
and  reverential  places  of  worship  that  are,  perhaps,  any- 
where to  be  found  in  the  Christian  world.  Yet,  not- 
withstanding the  decent  solemnity  of  its  exterior,  Jeanie 
was  too  faithful  to  the  directory  of  the  Presbyterian  kirk 
to  have  entered  a  prelatic  place  of  worship,  and  would, 
upon  any  other  occasion,  have  thought  that  she  beheld  in 
the  porch  the  venerable  figure  of  her  father  waving  her 
back  from  the  entrance,  and  pronouncing  in  a  solemn 
tone,  "Cease,  my  child,  to  hear  the  instruction  which 
causeth  to  err  from  the  words  of  knowledge."  But  in 
her  present  agitating  and  alarming  situation,  she  looked 
for  safety  to  this  forbidden  place  of  assembly,  as  the 
hunted  animal  will  sometimes  seek  shelter  from  imminent 
danger  in  the  human  habitation,  or  in  other  places  of 
refuge  most  alien  to  its  nature  and  habits.  Xot  even 
the  sound  of  the  organ,  and  of  one  or  two  flutes  which 
accompanied  the  psalmody,  prevented  her  from  following 
her  guide  into  the  chancel  of  the  church. 

No  sooner  had  Madge  put  her  foot  upon  the  pavement, 
and  become  sensible  that  she  was  the  object  of  attention 
to  the  spectators,  than  she  resumed  all  the  fantastic  ex- 
travagance of  (loj)ortm('nt  which  some  transient  touch  of 
melancholy  had  banished  for  an  instant.  She  swam  rather 
than  walked  up  the  centre  aisle,  dragging  Jeanie  after  her, 
whom    she   held    fast    by    tho    hand.      Slie    would,    indeed. 


372  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

have  fain  slipped  aside  into  the  pew  nearest  to  the  door, 
and  left  Madge  to  ascend  in  her  own  manner  and  alone  to 
the  high  places  of  the  synagogue ;  but  this  was  impossible, 
without  a  degree  of  violent  resistance,  which  seemed  to 
her  inconsistent  with  the  time  and  place,  and  she  was 
accordingly  led  in  captivity  up  the  whole  length  of  the 
church  by  her  grotesque  conductress,  who,  wdth  half-shut 
eyes,  a  prim  smile  upon  her  lips,  and  a  mincing  motion 
with  her  hands,  which  corresponded  with  the  delicate  and 
affected  pace  at  which  she  was  pleased  to  move,  seemed 
to  take  the  general  stare  of  the  congregation,  which  such 
an  exhibition  necessarily  excited,  as  a  high  compliment, 
and  which  she  returned  by  nods  and  half -courtesy  to 
individuals  amongst  the  audience,  whom  she  seemed  to  dis- 
tinguish as  acquaintances.  Her  absurdity  w^as  enhanced 
in  the  eyes  of  the  spectators  by  the  strange  contrast  which 
she  formed  to  her  companion,  who,  with  dishevelled  hair, 
downcast  eyes,  and  a  face  glowing  with  shame,  was 
dragged,  as  it  were,  in  triumph  after  her. 

Madge's  airs  were  at  length  fortunately  cut  short  by  her 
encountering  in  her  progress  the  looks  of  the  clergyman, 
who  fixed  upon  her  a  glance,  at  once  steady,  compassionate, 
and  admonitory.  She  hastily  opened  an  empty  pew  which 
happened  to  be  near  her,  and  entered,  dragging  in  Jeanie 
after  her.  Kicking  Jeanie  on  the  shins,  by  way  of  hint 
that  she  should  follow  her  example,  she  sunk  her  head 
upon  her  hand  for  the  space  of  a  minute.  Jeanie,  to 
whom  this  posture  of  mental  devotion  was  entirely  new, 
did  not  attempt  to  do  the  like,  but  looked  round  her  with  a 
bewildered  stare,  which  her  neighbors,  judging  from  the 
company  in  which  they  saw  her,  very  naturally  ascribed 
to  insanity.  Every  person  in  their  immediate  vicinity 
drew  back  from  this  extraordinary  couple  as  far  as  the 
limits  of  their  pew  permitted;  but  one  old  man  could 
not  get  beyond  Madge's  reach,  ere  she  had  snatched  the 
prayer-book  from  his  hand,  and  ascertained  the  lesson  of 
the  day.  She  then  turned  up  the  ritual,  and,  with  the 
most  overstrained  enthusiasm  of  gesture  and  manner, 
showed  Jeanie  the  passages  as  they  were  read  in  the 
service,  making,  at  the  same  time,  her  own  responses  so 
loud  as  to  be  heard  above  those  of  every  other  person. 

Notwithstanding  the  shame  and  vexation  which  Jeanie 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTITTAN  373 

felt  in  being  thus  exposed  in  a  plaee  of  worship,  she 
could  not  and  durst  not  omit  rallying  her  spirits  so  as 
to  look  around  her,  and  consider  to  whom  she  ought  to 
appeal  for  protection  so  soon  as  the  service  should  be  con- 
cluded. Her  tirst  ideas  naturally  fixed  upon  the  clergy- 
man, and  she  was  confirmed  in  the  resolution  by  observing 
that  he  was  an  aged  gentleman,  of  a  dignified  appearance 
and  deportment,  who  read  the  service  with  an  undisturbed 
and  decent  gravity,  which  brought  back  to  becoming  atten- 
tion those  younger  members  of  the  congregation  who  had 
been  disturbed  by  the  extravagant  behavior  of  Madge 
Wildfire.  To  the  clergyman,  therefore,  Jeanie  resolved 
to  make  her  appeal  when  the  service  was  over. 

It  is  true  she  felt  disposed  to  be  shocked  at  his  surplice, 
of  which  she  had  heard  so  much,  but  .which  she  had  never 
seen  upon  the  person  of  a  preacher  of  the  word.  Then 
she  was  confused  by  the  change  of  posture  adopted  in 
different  parts  of  the  ritual,  the  more  so  as  Madge  Wild- 
fire, to  whom  they  seemed  familiar,  took  the  opportunity 
to  exercise  authority  over  her,  pulling  her  up  and  pushing 
her  down  with  a  bustling  assiduity,  which  Jeanie  felt 
must  make  them  both  the  objects  of  painful  attention. 
But  notwithstanding  these  prejudices,  it  was  her  prudent 
resolution,  in  this  dilemma,  to  imitate  as  nearly  as  she 
could  what  was  done  around  her.  The  prophet,  she 
thought,  permitted  Xaaman  the  Syrian  to  bow  even  in 
the  house  of  Rimmon.  Surely  if  I,  in  this  strait,  worship 
the  God  of  my  fathers  in  mine  own  language,  although  the 
manner  thereof  be  strange  to  me,  the  Lord  will  pardon 
me   in   this   thing. 

In  this  resolution  she  became  so  much  confirmed,  that, 
withdrawing  herself  from  Madge  as  far  as  the  pew  per- 
mitted, she  endeavored  to  evince,  by  serious  and  unde- 
viating  attention  to  what  was  passing,  that  her  mind  was 
composed  to  devotion.  Her  tormentor  would  not  long 
have  permitted  her  to  remain  quiet,  but  fatigue  over- 
powered her,  and  she  fell  fast  asleep  in  the  other  corner 
of  the  pew. 

Jeanie,  though  her  mind  in  her  own  despite  sometimes 
reverted  to  her  situation,  compelled  herself  to  give  atten- 
tion to  a  sensible,  energetic,  and  well-composed  discourse, 
upon  the  practical   doctrines  of  Christianity,  which  she 


374  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

could  not  help  approving,  although  it  was  every  word 
written  down  and  read  by  the  preacher,  and  although  it 
was  delivered  in  a  tone  and  gesture  very  different  from 
those  of  Boanerges  Stormheaven,  who  was  her  father's 
favorite  preacher.  The  serious  and  placid  attention  with 
which  Jeanie  listened,  did  not  escajDe  the  clergyman. 
Madge  Wildfire's  entrance  had  rendered  him  apprehensive 
of  some  disturbance,  to  provide  against  which,  as  far  as 
possible,  he  often  turned  his  eyes  to  the  part  of  the 
church  where  Jeanie  and  she  were  placed,  and  became 
soon  aware  that,  although  the  loss  of  her  head-gear,  and 
the  awkwardness  of  her  situation,  had  given  an  uncom- 
mon and  anxious  air  to  the  features  of  the  former,  yet 
she  was  in  a  state  of  mind  very  different  from  that  of  her 
companion.  AYhen  he  dismissed  the  congregation,  he 
observed  her  look  around  with  a  wild  and  terrified  look, 
as  if  uncertain  what  course  she  ought  to  adopt,  and 
noticed  that  she  approached  one  or  two  of  the  most  decent 
of  the  congregation,  as  if  to  address  them,  and  then  shrunk 
back  timidly,  on  observing  that  they  seemed  to  shun  and 
to  avoid  her.  The  clergyman  was  satisfied  there  must  be 
something  extraordinary  in  all  this,  and  as  a  benevolent 
man,  as  well  as  a  good  Christian  pastor,  he  resolved  to 
inquire  into  the  matter  more  minutely. 


g,  a*'"'^'  CHAPTEE   XXXII 

-There   govern'd    in    that   year 


A   stern,   stout  churl — an   angry   overseer. 

Crabbe. 

While  Mr.  Staunton,  for  such  was  this  worthy  clergy- 
man's name,  was  laying  aside  his  gown  in  the  vestry, 
Jeanie  was  in  the  act  of  coming  to  an  open  rupture  with 
Madge. 

"We  must  return  to  Mummer's  barn  directly,"  said 
Madge;  "we'll  be  ower  late,  and  my  mother  will  be  angry." 

"I  am  not  going  back  with  you,  Madge,"  said  Jeanie, 
taking  out  a  guinea,  and  offering  it  to  her;  "I  am  much 
obliged  to  you,  but  I  maun  gang  my  ain  road." 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  375 

"And  mc  coniingr  a'  this  waj-  out  o'  my  gate  to  pleasure 
you,  ye  ungratefu'  cutty,"  answered  Madge;  "and  me  to 
be  brained  by  my  mother  when  I  gang  hame,  and  a'  for 
your  sake ! — But  I  will  gar  ye  as  good " 

''For  God's  sake,''  said  Jeanie  to  a  man  who  stood  be- 
side them,  "keep  her  oflF! — she  is  mad." 

"Ey,  ey,"  answered  the  boor;  "I  hae  some  guess  of  that, 
and  I  trow  thou  be'st  a  bird  of  the  same  feather. — 
Howsomever,  Madge,  I  redd  thee  keep  hand  oif  her,  or 
I'se  lend  thee  a  whisterpoop." 

Several  of  the  lower  class  of  the  parishioners  now 
gathered  round  the  strangers,  and  the  cry  arose  among  the 
boys,  that  "there  was  a-going  to  be  a  fite  between  mad 
Madge  Murdockson  and  another  Bess  of  Bedlam."  But 
while  the  fry  assembled  with  the  humane  hope  of  seeing 
as  much  of  the  fun  as  possible,  the  laced  cocked-hat  of 
the  beadle  was  discerned  among  the  multitude,  and  all 
made  way  for  that  person  of  awful  authority.  His  first 
address  was  to  Madge. 

"What's  brought  thee  back  again,  thou  silly  donnot,  to 
plague  this  parish  ?  Has  thou  brought  ony  more  bastards 
•wi'  thee  to  lay  to  honest  "men's  doors?  or  does  thou  think 
to  burden  us  with  this  goose  that's  as  gare-brained  as 
thysell,  as  if  rates  were  no  up  enow?  Away  wi'  thee  to 
thy  thief  of  a  mother;  she's  fast  in  the  stocks  at  Barkston 
town-end — Away  wi'  ye  out  o'  the  parish,  or  I'se  be  at  ye 
with  the  rattan."  . 

Madge  stood  sulky  for  a  minute;  but  she  had  been  too 
often  taught  submission  to  the  beadle's  authority  by 
ungentle  means,  to  feel  courage  enough  to  dispute  it. 

"And  my  mother — my  puir  auld  mother,  is  in  the  stocks 
at  Barkston! — This  is  a'  your  wyte,  Miss  Jeanie  Deans; 
but  I'll  be  upsides  wi'  you,  as  sure  as  my  name's  Madge 
Wildfire — I  mean  Murdockson — Ood  help  me,  I  forget 
my  very  name  in  this  confused  waste!" 

So  saying,  she  turned  upon  her  heel,  and  went  off,  fol- 
lowed by  all  the  mischievous  imps  of  the  village,  some  cry- 
ing, "Madge,  canst  thou  tell  thy  name  yet?"  some  pulling 
,the  skirts  of  her  dress,  and  all,  to  the  best  of  their  strength 
and  ingenuity,  exercising  some  new  device  or  other  to 
exasperate  her  into  frenzy. 

Jeanie  saw  her  departure  with  infinite  delight,  though 


376  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

she  wished,  that,  in  some  way  or  other,  she  could  have 
requited  the  service  Madge  had  conferred  upon  her. 

In  the  meantime,  she  applied  to  the  beadle  to  know, 
whether  "there  was  any  house  in  the  village,  where  she 
could  be  civilly  entertained  for  her  money,  and  whether 
she  could  be  permitted  to  speak  to  the  clergyman?'' 

"Ay,  ay,  we'se  ha'  reverend  care  on  thee;  and  I  think," 
answered  the  man  of  constituted  authority,  "that,  unless 
thou  answer  the  Kector  all  the  better,  we'se  spare  thy 
money  and  gie  thee  lodging  at  the  parish  charge,  young 
woman." 

"Where  am  I  to  go  then?"  said  Jeanie,  in  some  alarm. 
"Why,  I  am  to  take  thee  to  his  Eeverence,  in  the  first 
place,  to  gie  an  account  o'  thysell,  and  to  see  thou  comena 
to  be  a  burden  upon  the  parish." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  burden  any  one,"  replied  Jeanie;  "I 
have  enough  for  my  own  wants,  and  only  wish  to  get  on 
my  journey  safely." 

"Why,  that's  another  matter,"  replied  the  beadle,  "and 
if  it  be  true — and  I  think  thou  dost  not  look  so  polrump- 
tious  as  thy  playfellow  yonder; — thou  wouldst  be  a  mettle 
lass  enow,  and  thou  wert  snog  and  snod  a  bit  better.  Come 
thou  away,  then — the  Rector  is  a  good  man." 

"Is  that  the  minister,"  said  Jeanie,  "who  preached " 

"The  minister  ?  Lord  help  thee !  What  kind  o'  Presby- 
terian art  thou? — Why,  'tis  the  Rector — the  Rector's  sell, 
woman,  and  there  isna  the  like  o'  him  in  the  county,  nor 
the  *four  next  to  it.  Come  away — away  with  thee — we 
munna  bide  here." 

"I  am  sure  I  am  very  willing  to  go  to  see  the  minister," 
said  Jeanie;  "for,  though  he  read  his  discourse,  and  wore 
that  surplice,  as  they  call  it  here,  I  cannot  but  think  he 
must  be  a  very  worthy  God-fearing  man,  to  preach  the 
root  of  the  matter  in  the  way  he  did." 

The  disappointed  rabble,  finding  that  there  was  like  to 
be  no  farther  sport,  had  by  this  time  dispersed,  and 
Jeanie,  with  her  usual  patience,  followed  her  consequen- 
tial and  surly,  but  not  brutal,  conductor  toward  the 
rectory. 

This  clerical  mansion  was  large  and  commodious,  for 
the  living  was  an  excellent  one,  and  the  advowson  be- 
longed to   a  very  wealthy   family   in  the  neighborhood, 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  377 

who  had  usually  bred  up  a  son  or  nephew  to  the  church, 
for  the  sake  of  inducting  him,  as  opportunity  offered,  into 
this  very  comfortable  provision.  In  this  manner  the 
rectory  of  Willingham  had  always  been  considered  as  a 
direct  and  immediate  appanage  of  Willingham  Hall;  and 
as  the  rich  baronets  t^  whom  the  latter  belonged  had 
usually  a  son,  or  brother,  or  nephew,  settled  in  the  living, 
the  utmost  care  had  been  taken  to  render  their  habitation 
not  merely  respectable  and  commodious,  but  even  digni- 
fied and  imposing. 

It  was  situated  about  four  hundred  yards  from  the  vil- 
lage, and  on  a  rising  ground  which  sloped  gently  upward, 
covered  with  small  enclosures,  or  closes,  laid  out  irreg- 
ularly, so  that  the  old  oaks  and  elms,  which  were  planted 
in  hedge-rows,  fell  into  perspective,  and  were  blended  to- 
gether in  beautiful  irregularity.  When  they  approached 
nearer  to  the  house,  a  handsome  gate-way  admitted  them 
into  a  lawn,  of  narrow  dimensions,  indeed,  but  which  was 
interspersed  with  large  sweet-chestnut  trees  and  beeches, 
and  kept  in  handsome  order.  The  front  of  the  house  was 
irregular.  Part  of  it  seemed  very  old,  and  had,  in  fact, 
been  the  residence  of  the  incumbent  in  Romish  times. 
Successive  occupants  had  made  considerable  additions  and 
improvements,  each  in  the  taste  of  his  own  age.  and 
without  much  regard  to  symmetry.  But  these  inconurui- 
ties  of  architecture  were  so  graduated  and  hap]uly 
mingled,  that  the  eye,  far  from  being  displeased  with  the 
combinations  of  various  styles,  saw  nothing  but  what  was 
interesting  in  the  varied  and  intricate  pile  which  they 
exhibited.  Fruit-trees  displayed  on  the  southern  wall, 
outer  staircases,  various  places  of  entrance,  a  combina- 
tion of  roofs  and  chimneys  of  different  ages,  united  to 
render  the  front,  not  indeed  beautiful  or  grand,  but 
intricate,  perplexed,  or,  to  use  Mr.  Price's  appropriate 
phrase,  pictures(iue.  The  most  considerable  addition  was 
that  of  the  present  Rector,  who,  "being  a  bookish  man,'* 
as  the  beadle  was  at  the  pains  to  inform  .Teanie,  to  aug- 
ment, perhaps,  her  reverence  for  the  person  before  whom 
she  was  to  appear,  had  built  a  handsome  library  and 
parlor,  and  no  less  than  two  additional  bedrooms. 

"Mony   men    would    hae    scrupled    such    expense,"    con- 
tinued the  parochial  officer,  "seeing  as  the  living  mun  go 


378  THE   HEART    OE    MID-LOTHIAN 

as  it  pleases  Sir  Edmund  to  will  it;  but  his  Reverence  has 
a  canny  bit  land  of  his  own,  and  need  not  look  on  two 
sides   of  a  penny." 

Jeanie  could  not  help  comparing  the  irregular  yet  ex- 
tensive and  commodious  pile  of  building  before  her,  to 
the  "Manses"  in  her  own  country,  where  a  set  of  penuri- 
ous heritors,  professing  all  the  while  the  devotion  of  their 
lives  and  fortunes  to  the  Presbyterian  establishment, 
strain  their  inventions  to  discover  what  may  be  nipped, 
and  clipped,  and  pared  from  a  building  which  forms  but 
a  poor  accommodation  even  for  the  present  incumbent, 
and,  despite  the  superior  advantage  of  stone-masonry, 
must,  in  the  course  of  forty  or  fifty  years,  again  burden 
their  descendants  with  an  expense,  which,  once  liberally 
and  handsomely  employed,  ought  to  have  freed  their 
estates  from  a  recurrence  of  it  for  more  than  a  century  at 
least. 

Behind  the  Rector's  house  the  ground  sloped  down  to 
a  small  river,  which,  without  possessing  the  romantic 
vivacity  and  rapidity  of  a  northern  stream,  was,  neverthe- 
less, by  its  occasional  appearance  through  the  ranges  of 
willows  and  poplars  that  crowned  its  banks,  a  very  pleasing 
accompaniment  to  the  landscape.  "It  was  the  best  trout- 
ing  stream,"  said  the  beadle,  whom  the  patience  of  Jeanie, 
and  especially  the  assurance  that  she  was  not  about  to 
become  a  burden  to  the  parish,  had  rendered  rather  com- 
municative, "the  best  trouting  stream  in  all  Lincolnshire; 
for  when  you  get  lower,  there  was  nought  to  be  done  wi' 
fly-fishing." 

Turning  aside  from  the  principal  entrance,  he  con- 
ducted Jeanie  toward  a  sort  of  portal  connected  with  the 
older  part  of  the  building,  which  was  chiefly  occupied  by 
servants,  and  knocking  at  the  door,  it  was  opened  by  a 
servant  in  grave  purple  livery,  such  as  befitted  a  wealthy 
and  dignified  clergyman. 

"How  dost  do,  Tummas?"  said  the  beadle — "and  how's 
young  Measter   Staunton?" 

"Why,  but  poorly — but  poorly,  Measter  Stubbs. — Are 
you  wanting  to  see  his  Reverence?" 

"Ay,  ay,  Tummas;  please  to  say  I  ha'  brought  up  the 
young  woman  as  came  to  service  to-day  with  mad  Madge 
Murdockson — she  seems  to  be  a  decentish  koind  o'  body; 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHTAN  379 

but  I  ha'  asked  her  never  a  question.  Only  I  can  tell  his 
Reverence  that  she  is  a  Scotchwoman,  I  judge,  and  as  flat 
as  the  fens  of  Holland." 

Tummas  honored  Jeanie  Deans  with  such  a  stare,  as 
the  i)nmpered  domestics  of  the  rich,  whether  spiritual  or 
temporal,  usually  esteem  it  part  of  their  i)rivilege  to 
bestow  upon  the  poor,  and  then  desired  Mr.  Stubbs  and 
his  charge  to  step  in  till  he  informed  his  master  of  their 
presence. 

The  room  into  which  he  showed  them  was  a  sort  of 
steward's  parlor,  hung  with  a  county  map  or  two,  and 
three  or  four  prints  of  eminent  persons  connected  with 
the  county,  as  Sir  William  ^fonson,  James  York  the 
blacksmith  of  Lincoln,  and  the  famous  Peregrine,  Lord 
Willoughby,  in  complete  armor,  looking  as  when  he  said, 
in  the  words  of  the  legend  below  the  engraving, — 

"Stand  to  it,  noble  pikemen, 

And   face  ye  well   about; 
And   slioot  ye  sharp,  bold  bowman, 

And  we  mm  11  keep  them  out. 
Ye  nnisquet  and  calliver-men. 

Do  you  prove  true  to  me, 
I'll  be  the  foremost  man  in  fight, 

Said  brave  Lord  Willoughbee." 

When  they  had  entered  this  apartment,  Tummas  as  a 
matter  of  course  offered,  and  as  a  matter  of  'course  Mr. 
Stubbs  accepted,  a  ''summat"  to  eat  and  drink,  being  the 
xespectable  relics  of  a  gammon  of  bacon,  and  a  ichole 
whisl'in,  or  black  pot  of  sufficient  double  ale.  To  these 
eatables  Mr.  Beadle  seriously  inclined  himself,  and  (for 
we  must  do  him  justice),  not  without  an  invitation  to 
Jeanie,  in  w^hich  Tummas  joined,  that  his  prisoner  or 
charge  would  follow  his  good  example.  But  although  she 
might  have  stood  in  need  of  refreshment,  considering  she 
had  tasted  no  food  that  day,  the  anxiety  of  the  moment, 
her  own  sparing  and  abstemious  habits,  and  a  bashful 
aversion  to  eat  in  company  of  the  two  strangers,  induced 
her  to  decline  their  courtesy.  So  she  sate  in  her  chair 
apart,  while  'S\r.  Stubbs  and  Mr.  Tummas,  who  had  chosen 
to  join  his  friend  in  consideration  that  dinner  was  to  be 
put  back  till  the  afternoon  service  was  over,  made  a  hearty 


380  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

luncheon,  which  lasted  for  half-an-hour,  and  might  not 
then  have  concluded,  had  not  his  Reverence  rung  his  bell, 
so  that  Tummas  was  obliged  to  attend  his  master.  Then, 
and  no  sooner,  to  save  himself  the  labor  of  a  second 
journey  to  the  other  end  of  the  house,  he  announced  to 
his  master  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Stubbs,  with  the  other  mad- 
woman, as  he  chose  to  designate  Jeanie,  as  an  event  which 
had  just  taken  place.  He  returned  with  an  order  that  Mr. 
Stubbs  and  the  young  woman  should  be  instantly  ushered 
up  to  the  library. 

The  beadle  bolted  in  haste  his  last  mouthful  of  fat 
bacon,  washed  down  the  greasy  morsel  with  the  last 
rinsings  of  the  pot  of  ale,  and  immediately  marshalled 
Jeanie  through  one  or  two  intricate  passages  which  led 
from  the  ancient  to  the  more  modern  buildings,  into  a 
handsome  little  hall,  or  anteroom,  adjoining  to  the  library, 
and  out  of  which  a  glass  door  opened  to  the  lawn. 

"Stay  here,"  said  Sttibbs,  "till  I  tell  his  Reverence  you 
are  come." 

So  saying,  he  opened  a  door  and  entered  the  library. 

Without  wishing  to  hear  their  conversation,  Jeanie,  as 
she  was  circumstanced,  could  not  avoid  it;  for  as  Stubbs 
stood  by  the  door,  and  his  Reverence  was  at  the  upper  end 
of  a  large  room,  their  conversation  was  necessarily  audible 
in  the  anteroom. 

"So  you  have  brought  the  young  woman  here  at  last, 
Mr.  Stubbs,  I  expected  you  some  time  since.  You  know  I 
do  not  wish  such  persons  to  remain  in  custody  a  moment 
without  some  inquiry  into  their  situation." 

"Very  true,  your  Reverence,"  replied  the  beadle;  "but 
the  young  woman  had  eat  nought  to-day,  and  soa  Measter 
Tummas  did  set  down  a  drap  of  drink  and  a  morsel,  to  be 
sure." 

"Thomas  was  very  right,  Mr.  Stubbs;  and  what  has 
become  of  the  other  most  unfortunate  being?" 

"Why,"  replied  Mr.  Stubbs,  "I  did  think  the  sight  of 
her  would  but  vex  your  Reverence,  and  soa  I  did  let  her 
go  her  ways  back  to  her  mother,  who  is  in  trouble  in  the 
next  parish." 

"In  trouble! — that  signifies  in  prison,  I  suppose?"  said 
Mr.    Staunton. 

"Ay,  truly;  something  like  it,  an  it  like  your  Reverence." 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  381 

''Wretched,  unhappy,  incorrigrible  woman!"  said  the 
elerfj:yman.  "And  what  sort  of  person  is  this  companion 
of  hers  f ' 

''Why,  decent  enow,  an  it  like  your  Reverence,"  said 
Stubbs;  ''for  aught  I  sees  of  her,  there's  no  harm  of  her, 
and  she  says  she  has  cash  enow  to  carry  her  out  of  the 
county." 

''Cash?  that  is  always  what  you  think  of,  Stubbs. — But, 
has  she  sense? — has  she  her  wits? — has  she  the  capacity 
of  taking  care  of  herself?" 

"Why,  your  Reverence,"  replied  Stubbs,  "I  cannot  just 
say — I  will  be  sworn  she  was  not  born  at  Witt-ham;*  for 
Gaffer  Gibbs  looked  at  her  all  the  time  of  service,  and  he 
says  she  could  not  turn  up  a  single  lesson  like  a  Christian, 
even  though  she  had  Madge  Murdockson  to  help  her — but 
then,  as  to  fending  for  hersell,  why  she's  a  bit  of  a  Scotch- 
woman, your  Reverence,  and  they  say  the  worst  donnot 
of  them  can  look  out  for  their  own  turn — and  she  is 
decently  put  on  enow,  and  not  bechounched  like  t'other." 

"Send  her  in  here,  then,  and  do  you  remain  below,  Mr. 
Stubbs." 

This  colloquy  had  engaged  Jeanie's  attention  so  deeply, 
that  it  was  not  until  it  was  over  that  she  observed  that 
the  sashed  door,  which,  we  have  said,  led  from  the  ante- 
room into  the  garden,  was  opened,  and  that  there  entered, 
or  rather  was  borne  in  by  two  assistants,  a  young  man, 
of  a  very  pale  and  sickly  appearance,  whom  they  lifted  to 
the  nearest  couch,  and  placed  there,  as  if  to  recover  from 
the  fatigue  of  an  unusual  exertion.  Just  as  they  were 
making  this  arrangement,  Stubbs  came  out  of  the  library, 
and  summoned  Jeanie  to  enter  it.  She  obeyed  him,  but 
not  without  tremor;  for,  besides  the  novelty  of  the  situa- 
tion to  a  girl  of  her  secluded  habits,  she  felt  also  as  if  the 
successful  prosecution  of  her  journey  was  to  depend  upon 
the  i  npression  she  should  be  able  to  make  on  Mr. 
Staunton. 

It  is  true,  it  was  difficult  to  suppose  on  what  pretext  a 
person  travelling  on  her  own  business,  and  at  her  own 
charge,  could  be  interrupted  upon  her  route.  But  the 
violent  detention   she  had  already  undergone,   was   suffi- 

*  A  proverbial  and  i)iinnin>?  expression  in  that  county,  to  intimate 
that   a  person   is  not  very  clever. 


382  THE   HEART    OE   MID-LOTHIAN 

cient  to  show  that  there  existed  persons  at  no  great  dis- 
tance, who  had  the  interest,  the  inclination,  and  the 
audacity,  forcibly  to  stop  her  journey,  and  she  felt  the 
necessity  of  having  some  countenance  and  protection,  at 
least  till  she  should  get  beyond  their  reach.  While  these 
things  passed  through  her  mind,  much  faster  than  our 
pen  and  ink  can  record,  or  even  the  reader's  eye  collect 
the  meaning  of  its  traces,  Jeanie  found  herself  in  a  hand- 
some library,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  Rector  of  Willing- 
ham.  The  well-furnished  presses  and  shelves  which  sur- 
rounded the  large  and  handsome  apartment  contained 
more  books  than  Jeanie  imagined  existed  in  the  world, 
being  accustomed  to  consider  as  an  extensive  collection 
two  fir  shelves,  each  about  three  feet  long,  which  con- 
tained her  father's  treasured  volumes,  the  whole  pith  and 
marrow,  as  he  used  sometimes  to  boast,  of  modern  divinity. 
An  orrery,  globes,  a  telescope,  and  some  other  scientific 
implements,  conveyed  to  Jeanie  an  impression  of  admira- 
tion and  wonder  not  unmixed  with  fear;  for,  in  her 
ignorant  apprehension,  they  seemed  rather  adapted  for 
magical  puri3oses  than  any  other;  and  a  few  stuffed  ani- 
mals (as  the  Rector  was  fond  of  natural  history)  added 
to  the  impressive  character  of  the  apartment. 

Mr.  Staunton  spoke  to  her  with  great  mildness.  He  ob- 
served that,  although  her  appearance  at  church  had  been 
uncommon,  and  in  strange,  and,  he  must  add,  discredit- 
able society,  and  calculated,  upon  the  whole,  to  disturb 
the  congregation  during  divine  worship,  he  wished,  never- 
theless, to  hear  her  own  account  of  herself  before  taking 
any  steps  which  his  duty  might  seem  to  demand.  He  was 
a  justice  of  peace,  he  informed  her,  as  well  as  a  clergy- 
man. 

"His  honor"  (for  she  would  not  say  his  reverence)  "was 
very  civil  and  kind,"  was  all  that  poor  Jeanie  could  at 
first  bring  out. 

"Who  are  you,  young  woman?"  said  the  clergyman, 
more  peremptorily — "and  what  do  you  do  in  this  country, 
and  in  such  company  ? — We  allow  no  strollers  or  vagrants 
here." 

"I  am  not  a  vagrant  or  a  stroller,  sir,"  said  Jeanie,  a 
little  roused  by  the  supposition.  "I  am  a  decent  Scotch 
lass,  travelling  through  the  land  on  my  own  business  and 


THE    HEART    OF    :M1D-L0TIIIAN  383 

my  own  expenses;  and  I  was  so  unhappy  as  to  fall  in  with 
bad  c"oin])any,  and  was  stoi>ped  a'  nipht  on  my  journey. 
And  this  puir  creature,  who  is  somethinjj:  li^ht-headed, 
let  me  out  in  the  morninp:." 

"Bad  company,"  said  the  clerprj-man.  "I  am  afraid, 
younjr  woman,  you  have  not  been  sufficiently  anxious  to 
avoid  them.'' 

"Indeed,  sir,"  returned  Jeanie,  'T  have  been  brought  up 
to  shun  evil  communication.  But  these  wicked  people 
were  thieves,  and  stopped  me  by  violence  and  mastery." 

"Thieves!"  said  Mr.  Staunton;  "then  you  charge  them 
with  robberj',  I  suppose?" 

"Xo,  sir;  they  did  not  take  so  much  as  a  boddle  from 
me,"  answered  Jeanie;  "nor  did  they  use  me  ill,  other- 
wise than   by  confining  me." 

The  clergyman  inquired  into  the  particulars  of  her 
adventure,  which  she  told  him  from  point  to  point. 

"This  is  an  extraordinary,  and  not  a  very  probable  tale, 
young  woman,"  resumed  Mr.  Staunton.  "Here  has  been, 
according  to  your  account,  a  great  violence  committed 
without  any  adequate  motive.  Are  you  aware  of  the  law 
of  this  country — that  if  you  lodge  this  charge  you  will  be 
bound   over  to   prosecute   this   gang?" 

Jeanie  did  not  understand  him,  and  he  explained  that 
the  English  law,  in  addition  to  the  inconvenience  sus- 
tained by  persons  who  have  been  robbed  or  injured,  has 
the  goodness  to  entrust  to  them  the  care  and  the  expense 
of  appearing  as  prosecutors. 

Jeanie  said,  "that  her  business  at  London  was  express; 
all  she  wanted  was,  that  any  gentleman  would,  out  of 
Christian  charity,  protect  her  to  some  town  where  she 
could  hire  horses  and  a  guide;  and,  finally,"  she  thought, 
"it  would  be  her  father's  mind  that  she  was  not  free  to 
give  testimony  in  an  English  court  of  justice,  as  the  land 
was  not  under  a  direct  gospel  dispensation." 

Mr.  Staunton  stared  a  little,  and  asked  if  her  father  was 
a  Quaker. 

"God  forbid,  sir,"  said  Jeanie — "He  is  nae  schismatic 
nor  sectary,  nor  ever  treated  for  sic  black  commodities 
as  theirs,  and  that's  weel  kend  o'  him." 

"And  what  is  his  name,  pray?"  said  ^Fr.  Staunton. 


384  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

"David  Deans,   sir,   the  cowfeeder   at   Saint  Leonard's 
Crags,  near  Edinburgh."  j 

A  deep  groan  from  the  anteroom  prevented  the  Rector  I 
from  replying,  and,  exclaiming,  "Good  God !  that  unhappy- 
boy !"  he  left  Jeanie  alone,  and  hastened  into  the  outer    , 
.apartment.  , 

Some  noise  and  bustle  was  heard,  but  no  one  entered  the 
library  for  the  best  part  of  an  hour. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

Fantastic  passions'  maddening  brawl! 
And    shame   and   terror   over   all! 
Deeds  to  be   hid   which   were  not   hid, 
Which,  all  confused,  I  could  not  know 
Whether   I   sufifer'd   or   I   did, 
For    all   seem'd   guilt,    remorse,    or    woe; 
My   own,   or   others,    still    the   same 
Life-stifling   fear,   soul-stifling  shame. 

Coleridge. 

During  the  interval  while  she  was  thus  left  alone,  Jeanie 
anxiously  revolved  in  her  mind  what  course  was  best  for 
her  to  pursue.  She  was  impatient  to  continue  her  journey, 
yet  she  feared  she  could  not  safely  adventure  to  do  so 
while  the  old  hag  and  her  assistants  were  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, without  risking  a  repetition  of  their  violence. 
She  thought  she  could  collect  from  the  conversation  which 
she  had  partly  overheard,  and  also  from  the  wild  confes- 
sions of  ]\Iadge  Wildfire,  that  her  mother  had  a  deep  and 
revengeful  motive  for  obstructing  her  journey  if  possible. 
And  from  whom  could  she  hope  for  assistance  if  not  from 
Mr.  Staunton?  His  whole  appearance  and  demeanor 
seemed  to  encourage  her  hopes.  His  features  were  hand- 
some, though  marked  with  a  deep  cast  of  melancholy;  his 
tone  and  language  were  gentle  and  encouraging;  and,  as 
he  had  served  in  the  army  for  several  years  during  his 
youth,  his  air  retained  that  easy  frankness  which  is 
peculiar  to  the  profession  of  arms.  He  was,  besides,  a 
minister  of  the  gospel;  and  although  a  worshipper,  ac- 
cording to  Jeanie's  notions,  in  the  court  of  the  Gentiles, 
and  so  benighted  as  to  wear  a  surplice;  although  he  read 
the  Common  Prayer,  and  wrote  down  every  word  of  his 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  385 

sermon  before  delivering:  it ;  and  although  he  was,  more- 
over, in  strength  of  lungs,  as  well  as  pith  and  marrow  of 
doctrine,  vastly  inferior  to  Boanerges  Stormheaven, 
Jeanie  still  thought  he  must  be  a  very  differont  person 
from  Curate  Kiltstoup,  and  other  prelatical  divines  of  her 
father's  earlier  days,  who  used  to  get  drunk  in  their 
canonical  dress,  and  hound  out  the  dragoons  against  the 
wandering  Cameronians.  The  house  seemed  to  be  in  so?ne 
disturbance,  Init  as  she  could  not  suppose  she  was  alto- 
gether forgotten,  she  thought  it  better  to  remain  quiet 
in  the  apartment  where  she  had  been  left,  till  some  one 
should  take  notice  of  her. 

The  first  who  entered  was,  to  her  no  small  delight,  one 
of  her  own  sex,  a  motherly  looking  aged  person  of  a 
housekeeper.  To  her  Jeanie  explained  her  situation  in  a 
few  words,  and  begged  her  assistance. 

The  dipmity  of  a  housekeeper  did  not  encourage  too 
much  familiarity  with  a  person  who  was  at  the  Rectory 
on  justice-business,  and  whose  character  might  seem  in 
her  eyes  somewhat  precarious;  but  she  was  civil,  although 
distant. 

''Her  young  master,"  she  said,  ''had  had  a  bad  accident 
by  a  fall  from  his  horse,  which  made  him  liable  to  fainting 
fits ;  he  had  been  taken  very  ill  just  now,  and  it  was  im- 
possible his  Reverence  could  see  Jeanie  for  some  time; 
but  that  she  need  not  fear  his  doing  all  that  was  just  and 
proper  in  her  behalf  the  instant  he  could  get  her  business 
attended  to." — She  concluded  by  oiTering  to  show  Jeanie 
a  room,  where  she  might  r.emain  till  His  Reverence  was  at 
leisure. 

Our  heroine  took  the  opportunity  to  request  the  means 
of   adjusting   and   changing  her  dress. 

The  housekeeper,  in  whose  estimation  order  and  cleanli- 
ness ranked  high  among  personal  virtues,  gladly  complied 
with  a  request  so  reasonable;  and  the  change  of  dress 
which  Jeanie's  bundle  furnished  made  so  important  an 
improvement  in  her  appearance,  that  the  old  lady  hardly 
knew  the  soiled  and  disordered  traveller,  whose  attire 
showed  the  violence  she  had  sustained,  in  the  neat,  clean, 
quiet-looking  little  Scotchwoman,  who  now  stood  before 
her.  Encouraged  by  such  a  favorable  alteration  in  her 
appearance,  Mrs.  Dalton  ventured  to  invite  Jeanie  to  par- 


386  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

take  of  her  dinner,  and  was  equally  pleased  with  the 
decent  propriety  of  her  conduct   during  that  meal. 

"Thou  canst  read  this  book,  canst  thou,  young  woman  ?" 
said  the  old  lady,  when  their  meal  was  concluded,  laying 
her  hand  upon  a  large  Bible. 

"I  hope  sae,  madam,"  said  Jeanie,  surprised  at  the 
question;  "my  father  wad  hae  wanted  mony  a  thing,  ere 
I  had  wanted  that  schuling." 

"The  better  sign  of  him,  young  woman.  There  are  men 
here,  well  to  pass  in  the  world,  would  not  want  their  share 
of  a  Leicester  plover,  and  that's  a  bag-pudding,  if  fasting 
for  three  hours  would  make  all  their  poor  children  read 
the  Bible  from  end  to  end.  Take  thou  the  book,  then,  for 
my  eyes  are  something  dazed,  and  read  where  thou  listest 
— it's  the  only  book  thou  canst  not  happen  wrong  in." 

Jeanie  was  at  first  tempted  to  turn  up  the  parable  of 
the  good  Samaritan,  but  her  conscience  checked  her,  as  if 
it  were  a  use  of  Scripture,  not  for  her  own  edification, 
but  to  work  upon  the  mind  of  others  for  the  relief  of  her 
worldly  afflictions;  and  under  this  scrupulous  sense  of 
duty,  she  selected,  in  preference,  a  chapter  of  the  prophet 
Isaiah,  and  read  it,  notwithstanding  her  northern  accent 
and  tone,  with  a  .devout  propriety,  which  greatly  edified 
Mrs.  Dalton. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "an  all  Scotchwomen  were  sic  as  thou  I 
— but  it  was  our  luck  to  get  born  devils  of  thy  country,  I 
think — every  one  worse  than  t'other.  If  thou  knowest  of 
any  tidy  lass  like  thysell,  that  wanted  a  place,  and  could 
bring  a  good  character,  and  would  not  go  laiking  about 
to  wakes  and  fairs,  and  wore  shoes  and  stockings  all  the 
day  round — why,  I'll  not  say  but  we  might  find  room  for 
her  at  the  Rectory.  Hast  no  cousin  or  sister,  lass,  that 
such  an  ofi"er  would  suit. 

This  was  touching  upon  a  sore  point,  but  Jeanie  was 
spared  the  pain  of  replying  by  the  entrance  of  the  same 
man-servant   she  had  seen  before. 

"Measter  wishes  to  see  the  young  woman  from  Scot- 
land," was  Tummas's  address. 

"Go  to  his  Reverence,  my  dear,  as  fast  as  you  can,  and 
tell  him  all  your  story — his  Reverence  is  a  kind  man," 
said  Mrs.  Dalton.  "I  will  fold  down  the  leaf,  and  make 
you  a  cup  of  tea,  with  some  nice  muffin,  against  you  come 


THE   HEART   OF   MID-LOTHIAX  387 

down,  and  that's  what  you  seldom  see  in  Scotland,  girl." 

"Measter's  waiting  for  the  young  woman,"  said  Tum- 
mas   impatiently. 

*'Well,  Mr.  Jack-Sauce,  and  what  is  your  business  to 
put  in  your  oar? — And  how  often  must  I  tell  you  to  call 
Mr.  Staunton  his  Reverence,  seeing  as  he  is  a  dignified 
clergyman,  and  not  be  meastering,  meastering  him,  as  if 
he  were  a  little  petty  squire?" 

As  Jeanie  was  now  at  the  door,  and  ready  to  accompany 
Tummas,  the  footman  said  nothing  till  he  got  into  the 
passage,  when  he  muttered,  "There  are  moe  masters  than 
one  in  this  house,  and  I  think  we  shall  have  a  mistress  too, 
an  Dame  Dalton  carries  it  thus." 

Tummas  led  the  way  through  a  more  intricate  range  of 
passages  than  Jeanie  had  yet  threaded,  and  ushered  her 
into  an  apartment  which  was  darkened  by  the  closing  of 
most  of  the  window-shutters,  and  in  which  was  a  bed  with 
the   curtains  partly  drawn. 

"Here  is  the  young  woman,  sir,"  said  Tummas. 

"Very  well,"  said  a  voice  from  the  bed,  but  not  that 
of  his  Reverence;  "be  ready  to  answer  the  bell,  and  leave 
the  room." 

"There  is  some  mistake,"  said  Jeanie,  confounded  at 
finding  herself  in  the  apartment  of  an  invalid;  "the 
servant  told  me  that  the  minister " 

"Don't  trouble  yourself,"  said  the  invalid,  "there  is  no 
mistake.  I  know  more  of  your  affairs  than  my  father, 
and  I  can  manage  them  better. — Leave  the  room,  Tom." 
The  servant  obeyed. — "We  must  not,"  said  the  invalid, 
"lose  time,  when  we  have  little  to  lose.  Open  the  shutter 
of  that  window." 

She  did  so,  and,  as  he  drew  aside  the  curtain  of  his 
bed,  the  light  fell  on  his  pale  countenance,  as,  turbaned 
with  bandages,  and  dressed  in  a  night-gown,  he  lay, 
seemingly  exhausted,  upon  the  bed. 

"Look  at  me,"  he  said,  "Jeanie  Deans;  can  you  not 
recollect  me?" 

"Xo,  sir,"  said  she,  full  of  surprise.  "I  was  never  in 
this   country   before." 

"But  I  may  have  been  in  yours.  Think — recollect.  I 
should  faint  did  I  name  the  name  you  are  most  dearly 
bound  to  loathe  and  to  detest.     Think — remember!" 


388  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

A  terrible  recollection  flashed  on  Jeanie,  which  every 
tone  of  the  speaker  confirmed,  and  which  his  next  words 
Tendered   certainty. 

"Be  composed — remember  Muschat's  Cairn,  and  the 
moonlight   night !" 

Jeanie  sunk  down  on  a  chair,  with  clasped  hands,  and 
gasped  in  agony. 

"Yes*  here  I  lie,"  he  said,  "like  a  crushed  snake,  writh- 
ing with  impatience  at  my  incapacity  of  motion — here  I 
lie,  when  I  ought  to  have  been  in  Edinburgh,  trying  every 
means  to  save  a  life  that  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  own. — 
How  is  your  sister? — how  fares  it  with  her? — condemned 
to  death,  I  know  it,  by  this  time!  Oh,  the  horse  that 
carried  me  safely  on  a  thousand  errands  of  folly  and 
wickedness,  that  he  should  have  broke  down  with  me 
on  the  only  good  mission  I  have  undertaken  for  years! 
But  I  must  rein  in  my  passion — my  frame  cannot  endure 
it,  and  I  have  much  to  say.  Give  me  some  of  the  cordial 
which  stands  on  that  table. — Why  do  you  tremble?  But 
you  have  too  good  cause. — Let  it  stand — I  need  it  not." 

Jeanie,  however  reluctant,  approached  him  with  the  cup 
into  which  she  had  poured  the  draught,  and  could  not 
forbear  saying,  "There  is  a  cordial  for  the  mind,  sir,  if 
the  wicked  will  turn  from  their  transgressions,  and  seek 
to  the  Physician  of  souls." 

"Silence!"  he  said  sternly — "and  yet  I  thank  you.  But 
tell  me,  and  lose  no  time  in  doing  so,  what  you  are  doing 
in  this  country?  Remember,  though  I  have  been  your 
sister's  worst  enemy,  yet  I  will  serve  her  with  the  best 
'of  my  blood,  and  I  will  serve  you  for  her  sake;  and  no 
one  can  serve  you  to  such  purpose,  for  no  one  can  know 
the  circumstances  so  well — so  speak  without  fear." 

"I  am  not  afraid,  sir,"  said  Jeanie,  collecting  her  spirits. 
*T  trust  in  God;  and  if  it  pleases  Him  to  redeem  my 
sister's  captivity,  it  is  all  I  seek,  whosoever  be  the  instru- 
ment. But,  sir,  to  be  plain  with  you,  I  dare  not  use  your 
counsel,  unless  I  were  enabled  to  see  that  it  accords  with 
the  law  which  I  must  rely  upon." 

"The  devil  take  the  puritan!"  cried  George  Staunton, 
for  so  we  must  now  call  him, — "I  beg  your  pardon;  but  I 
am  naturally  impatient,  and  you  drive  me  mad!  What 
harm  can  it  possibly  do  you  to  tell  me  in  what  situation 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAX  389 

your  sister  stands,  anrl  ymir  outi  expectations  of  being 
able  to  assist  her?  It  is  time  enouprh  to  refuse  my  advice 
when  I  offer  any  which  you  may  think  improper.  I  speak 
calmly  to  you,  though  'tis  against  my  nature: — but  don't 
urge  me  to  impatience — it  will  only  render  me  incapable 
of  serving  Effie." 

There  was  in  the  looks  and  words  of  this  unhappy 
young  man  a  sort  of  restrained  eagerness  and  impetuosity, 
which  seemed  to  prey  upon  itself,  as  the  impatience  of  a 
fiery  steed  fatigues  itself  with  churning  upon  the  bit. 
After  a  moment's  consideration,  it  occurred  to  Jeanie 
that  she  was  not  entitled  to  withhold  from  him,  whether 
on  her  sister's  account  or  her  own,  the  account  of  the 
fatal  consequences  of  the  crime  which  he  had  committed, 
nor  to  reject  such  advice,  being  in  itself  lawful  and  inno- 
cent, as  he  might  be  able  to  suggest  in  the  way  of  remedy. 
Accordingly,  in  as  few  words  as  she  could  express  it, 
she  told  the  history  of  her  sister's  trial  and  condemnation, 
and  of  her  own  journey  as  far  as  Newark.  He  appeared  to 
listen  in  the  utmost  agony  of  mind,  yet  repressed  every 
violent  symptom  of  emotion,  whether  by  gesture  or  sound, 
which  might  have  interrupted  the  speaker,  and,  stretched 
on  his  couch  like  the  Mexican  monarch  on  his  bed  of  live 
coals,  only  the  contortions  of  his  cheek,  and  the  quivering 
of  his  limbs,  gave  indication  of  his  sufferings.  To  much 
of  what  she  said  he  listened  with  stifled  groans,  as  if  he 
were  only  hearing  those  miseries  confirmed,  whose  fatal 
reality  he  had  known  before;  but  when  she  pursued  her 
tale  through  the  circumstances  which,  had  interrupted 
her  journey,  extreme  surprise  and  earnest  attention  ap- 
peared to  succeed  to  the  symptoms  of  remorse  which  he 
had  before  exhibited.  He  questioned  Jeanie  closely  con- 
cerning the  appearance  of  the  two  men,  and  the  conver- 
sation which  she  had  overheard  between  the  taller  of  them 
and  the  woman. 

When  Jeanie  mentioned  the  old  woman  having  alluded 
to  her  foster-son — "It  is  too  true,"  he  said;  "and  the 
source  from  which  I  derived  food,  when  an  infant,  must 
have  communicated  to  me  the  wretched — the  fated — 
propensity  to  vices  that  were  strangers  in  my  own  family. 
— But  go   on." 

Jeanie   passed   slightly   over  her   journey    in   company 


390  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

with  Madge,  having  no  inclination  to  repeat  what  might 
be  the  effect  of  mere  raving  on  the  part  of  her  com- 
panion,  and  therefore  her  tale  was  now  closed. 

Young  Staunton  lay  for  a  moment  in  profound  medita- 
tion, and  at  length  spoke  with  more  composure  than  he 
had  yet  displayed  during  their  interview. — "You  are  a 
sensible,  as  well  as  a  good  young  woman,  Jeanie  Deans, 
and  I  will  tell  you  more  of  my  story  than  I  have  told  to 
any  one. — Story,  did  I  call  it? — it  is  a  tissue  of  folly, 
guilt,  and  misery. — But  take  notice — I  do  it  because  I 
desire  your  confidence  in  return — that  is,  that  you  will 
act  in  this  dismal  matter  by  my  advice  and  direction. 
Therefore  do  I  speak." 

"I  will  do  what  is  fitting  for  a  sister,  and  a  daughter, 
and  a  Christian  woman  to  do,"  said  Jeanie;  "but  do  not 
tell  me  any  of  your  secrets — It  is  not  good  that  I  should 
come  into  your  counsel,  or  listen  to  the  doctrine  which 
causeth  to  err." 

"Simple  fool!"  said  the  young  man.  "Look  at  me.  My 
head  is  not  horned,  my  foot  is  not  cloven,  my  hands  are 
not  garnished  with  talons;  and,  since  I  am  not  the  very 
devil  himself,  what  interest  can  any  one  else  have  in 
destroying  the  hopes  with  which  you  comfort  or  fool 
yourself?  Listen  to  me  patiently,  and  you  will  find  that, 
when  you  have  heard  my  counsel,  you  may  go  to  the 
seventh  heaven  with  it  in  your  pocket,  if  you  have  a  mind, 
and  not  feel  yourself  an  ounce  heavier  in  the  aspent. 

At  the  risk  of  being  somewhat  heavy,  as  explanations 
usually  prove,  we  must  here  endeavor  to  combine  into  a 
distinct  narrative,  information  which  the  invalid  com- 
municated in  a  manner  at  once  too  circumstantial,  and 
too  much  broken  by  passion,  to  admit  of  our  giving  his 
precise  words.  Part  of  it,  indeed,  he  read  from  a  manu- 
script, which  he  had  perhaps  drawn  up  for  the  informa- 
tion of  his  relations  after  his  decease. 

"To  make  my  tale  short — this  wretched  hag — this 
Margaret  Murdockson,  was  the  wife  of  a  favorite  servant 
of  my  father; — she  had  been  my  nurse; — her  husband 
was  dead; — she  resided  in  a  cottage  near  this  place; — 
she  had  a  daughter  who  grew  up,  and  was  then  a  beauti- 
ful hut  very  giddy  girl ;  her  mother  endeavored  to  promote 
her  marriage  with  an  old  and  wealthy  churl  in  the  neigh- 


THE    liEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  391 

borhood; — the  girl  saw  me  frequently — She  was  familiar 
with  me,  as  our  connection  seemed  to  permit — and  I — in 
a  word,  I  wronged  her  cruelly — It  was  not  so  bad  as  your 
sister's  business,  but  it  was  sufficiently  villainous — her 
folly  should  have  been  her  protection.  Soon  after  this  I 
was  sent  abroad — To  do  my  father  justice,  if  I  have 
turned  out  a  fiend,  it  is  not  his  fault — he  used  the  best 
means.  When  I  returned,  I  found  the  wretched  mother 
and  daughter  had  fallen  into  disgrace,  and  were  chased 
from  this  countrj\ — My  deep  share  in  their  shame  and 
miserj'-  was  discovered  —  my  father  used  very  harsh 
language — we  quarrelled.  I  left  his  house,  and  led  a  life 
of  strange  adventure,  resolving  never  again  to  see  my 
father  or  my  father's  home. 

"And  now  comes  the  story! — Jeanie,  I  put  my  life  into 
your  hands,  and  not  only  my  own  life,  which,  God  knows, 
is  not  worth  saving,  but  the  happiness  of  a  respectable 
old  man,  and  the  honor  of  a  family  of  consideration.  My 
love  of  low  society,  as  such  propensities  as  I  was  cursed 
"with  are  usually  termed,  was,  I  think,  of  an  uncommon 
kind,  and  indicated  a  nature,  which,  if  not  depraved  by 
early  debauchery,  would  have  been  fit  for  better  things. 
I  did  not  so  much  delight  in  the  wild  revel,  the  low 
humor,  the  unconfined  liberty  of  those  with  whom  I 
associated,  as  in  the  spirit  of  adventure,  presence  of  mind 
in  peril,  and  sharjiuess  of  intellect  which  they  displayed 
in   prosecuting   their   maraudings   upon   the   revenue,   or 

similar     adventures. Have     you     looked     round     this 

rectory? — is  it  not  a  sweet  and  pleasant  retreat?" 

Jeanie,  alarmed  at  this  sudden  change  of  subject,  re- 
plied in  the  affirmative. 

"Well!  I  wish  it  had  been  ten  thousand  fathoms  under 
ground,  with  its  church-lands,  and  tithes,  and  all  that 
belongs  to  it !  Had  it  not  been  for  this  cursed  rectory,  I 
should  have  been  permitted  to  follow  the  bent  of  my  own 
inclinations  and  the  profession  of  arms,  and  half  the 
courage  and  address  that  I  have  displayed  among  smug- 
glers and  deer-stealcrs  would  have  secured  me  an  honor- 
able rank  among  my  contemporaries.  Why  did  I  not  go 
abroad  when  I  left  this  house! — Why  did  I  leave  it  at  all! 
— why — But  it  came  to  that  point  with  me  that  it  is 
madness  to  look  back,  and  misery  to  look  forward." 


392  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

He  paused,  and  then  proceeded  with  more  composure. 

"The  chances  of  a  wandering  life  brought  me  unhappily 
to  Scotland,  to  embroil  myself  in  worse  and  more  criminal 
actions  than  I  had  yet  been  concerned  in.  It  was  now 
I  became  acquainted  with  Wilson,  a  remarkable  man  in 
his  station  of  life ;  quiet,  composed,  and  resolute,  firm 
in  mind,  and  uncommonly  strong  in  person,  gifted  with 
a  sort  of  rough  eloquence  which  raised  him  above  his 
companions.     Hitherto  I  had  been 

*As  dissolute  as  desperate,  yet  through  both 
Were  seen  some  sparkles  of  a  better  hope.' 

But  it  was  this  man's  misfortune,  as  well  as  mine,  that, 
notwithstanding  the  difference  of  our  rank  and  educa- 
tion, he  acquired  an  extraordinary  and  fascinating  in- 
fluence over  me,  which  I  can  only  account  for  by  the  calm 
determination  of  his  character  being  superior  to  the  less 
sustained  impetuosity  of  mine.  Where  he  led,  I  felt  my- 
self bound  to  follow;  and  strange  was  the  courage  and 
address  which  he  displayed  in  his  pursuits.  While  I  was 
engaged  in  desperate  adventures,  under  so  strange  and 
dangerous  a  preceptor,  I  became  acquainted  with  your 
unfortunate  sister  at  some  sports  of  the  young  people  in 
the  suburbs,  which  she  frequented  by  stealth — and  her 
ruin  proved  an  interlude  to  the  tragic  scenes  in  which  I 
was  now  deeply  engaged.  Yet  this  let  me  say — the  vil- 
lainy was  not  premeditated,  and  I  was  firmly  resolved 
to  do  her  all  the  justice  which  marriage  could  do,  so  soon 
as  I  should  be  able  to  extricate  myself  from  my  unhappy 
course  of  life,  and  embrace  some  one  more  suited  to  my 
birth.  I  had  wild  visions — visions  of  conducting  her  as 
if  to  some  poor  retreat,  and  introducing  her  at  once  to 
rank  and  fortune  she  never  dreamed  of.  A  friend,  at  my 
request,  attempted  a  negotiation  with  my  father,  which 
was  protracted  for  some  time,  and  renewed  at  different 
intervals.  At  length,  and  just  when  I  expected  my  father's 
pardon,  he  learned  by  some  means  or  other  of  my  infamy, 
painted  in  even  exaggerated  colors,  which  was,  God  knows, 
minecessary.  He  wrote  me  a  letter — how  it  found  me 
out,  I  know  not — enclosing  me  a  sum  of  money,  and  dis- 
owning   me    forever.      I    became    desperate — I    became 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  393 

frantic — I  readily  joined  Wilson  in  a  perilous  smuggling 
adventure  in  which  we  miscarried,  and  was  willingly 
blinded  by  his  logic  to  consider  the  robbery  of  the  officer 
of  the  customs  in  Fife  as  a  fair  and  honorable  reprisal. 
Hitherto  I  had  observed  a  certain  line  in  my  criminality, 
and  stood  free  of  assaults  upon  personal  property,  but  now 
I  felt  a  wild  pleasure  in  disgracing  myself  as  much  as 
possible. 

"The  plunder  was  no  object  to  me.  I  abandoned  that 
to  my  comrades,  and  only  asked  the  post  of  danger.  I 
remember  well,  that  when  I  stood  with  my  drawn  sword 
guardilig  the  door  while  they  committed  the  felony,  I  had 
not  a  thought  of  my  own  safety.  I  was  only  meditating 
on  my  sense  of  supposed  wrong  from  my  family,  my  im- 
potent thirst  of  vengeance,  and  how  it  would  sound  in 
the  haughty  ears  of  the  family  of  Willingham,  that  one 
of  their  descendants,  and  the  heir  apparent  of  their 
honors,  should  perish  by  the  hands  of  the  hangman  for 
robbing  a  Scottish  ganger  of  a  sum  not  equal  to  one-fifth 
part  of  the  money  I  had  in  my  pocket-book.  We  were 
taken — I  expected  no  less.  We  were  condemned — that 
also  I  looked  for.  But  death,  as  he  approached  nearer, 
looked  grimly;  and  the  recollection  of  your  sister's  desti- 
tute condition  determined  me  on  an  effort  to  save  my  life. 
— I  forgot  to  tell  you,  that  in  Edinburgh  I  again  met  the 
woman  Murdockson  and  her  daughter.  She  had  followed 
the  camp  when  young,  and  had  now,  under  pretence  of  a 
trifling  traffic,  resumed  predatory  habits,  with  which  she 
had  already  been  too  familiar.  Our  first  meeting  was 
stormy;  but  I  was  liberal  of  what  money  I  had.  and  she 
forgot,  or  seemed  to  forget,  the  injury  her  daughter  had 
received.  The  unfortunate  girl  herself  seemed  hardly 
even  to  know  her  seducer,  far  less  to  retain  any  sense  of 
the  injury  she  had  received.  Her  mind  is  totally  alienated, 
which  according  to  her  mother's  aceount.  is  sometimes 
the  consequence  of  an  unfavorable  confinement.  But  it 
was  mij  doing.  Here  was  another  stone  knitted  round  my 
neck  to  sink  me  into  the  pit  of  perdition.  Every  look — 
every  word  of  this  poor  creature — her  false  spirits — her 
ini})erfeet  recolleetions — her  allusions  to  things  which  she 
had  forgotten,  but  which  were  recorded  in  my  conscience, 
were   stabs   of   a   poniard — stabs   did   I   say? — they   were 


394  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

tearing  with  hot  pincers,  and  scalding  the  raw  wound  with 
burning  sulphur — they  were  to  be  endured,  however,  and 
they  were  endured. — I  return. to  my  prison  thoughts. 

"It  was  not  the  least  miserable  of  them  that  your  sister's 
time  approached.  I  knew  her  dread  of  you  and  of  her 
father.  She  often  said  she  would  die  a  thousand  deaths 
ere  you  should  know  her  shame — yet  her  confinement 
must  be  provided  for.  I  knew  this  woman  Murdockson 
was  an  infernal  hag,  but  I  thought  she  loved  me,  and  that 
money  would  make  her  true.  She  had  procured  a  file  for 
Wilson,  and  a  spring-saw  for  me;  and  she  undertook 
readily  to  take  charge  of  Effie  during  her  illness,  in' which 
she  had  skill  enough  to  give  the  necessary  assistance.  I 
gave  her  the  money  which  my  father  had  sent  me.  It 
was  settled  that  she  should  receive  Effie  into  her  house  in 
the  meantime,  and  wait  for  farther  directions  from  me, 
when  I  should  effect  my  escape.  I  communicated  this 
purpose,  and  recommended  the  old  hag  to  poor  Effie  by  a 
letter,  in  which  I  recollect  that  I  endeavored  to  support 
the  character  of  Macheath  under  condemnation — a  fine, 
gay,  bold-faced  ruffian,  who  is  game  to  the  last.  Such, 
and  so  wretchedly  poor,  was  my  ambition!  Yet  I  had 
resolved  to  forsake  the  courses  I  had  been  engaged  in,  ' 
should  I  be  so  fortunate  as  to  escape  the  gibbet.  My  de- 
sign was  to  marry  your  sister,  and  go  over  to  the  West 
Indies.  I  had  still  a  considerable  sum  of  money  left,  and 
I  trusted  to  be  able,  in  one  way  or  other,  to  provide  for 
myself  and  my  wife. 

"We  made  the  attempt  to  escape,  and  by  the  obstinacy 
of  Wilson,  who  insisted  upon  going  first,  it  totally  mis- 
carried. The  undaunted  and  self-denied  manner  in  which 
he  sacrificed  himself  to  redeem  his  error,  and  accomplish 
my  escape  from  the  Tolbooth  Church,  you  must  have 
heard  of — all  Scotland  rang  with  it.  It  was  a  gallant  and 
extraordinary  deed. — All  men  spoke  of  it — all  men,  even 
those  who  most  condemned  the  habits  and  crimes  of  this 
self-devoted  man,  praised  the  heroism  of  his  friendship. 
I  have  many  vices,  but  cowardice,  or  want  of  gratitude, 
are  none  of  the  number.  I  resolved  to  requite  his  gen- 
erosity, and  even  your  sister's  safety  became  a  secondary 
consideration  with  me  for  the  time.     To  effect  Wilson's 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHTAX  395 

liberation  was  my  principal  object,  and  I  doiibtr'd  not  to 
tind  the  means. 

"Yet  I  did  not  forg^et  Effie  neither.  The  bloodhounds 
of  the  law  were  so  close  after  me,  that  I  dared  not  trust 
myself  near  any  of  my  old  haunts,  but  old  Murdockson 
met  me  by  appointment,  and  informed  me  that  your  sister 
had  happily  been  delivered  of  a  boy.  I  charpred  the  hacf 
to  keep  her  patient's  mind  easy,  and  let  her  want  for 
nothinc:  that  money  could  purchase,  and  I  retreated  to 
Fife,  where,  amonp:  my  old  associates  of  Wilson's  gang, 
I  hid  myself  in  those  places  of  concealment  where  the 
men  engaged  in  that  desperate  trade  are  used  to  find  se- 
curity for  themselves  and  their  uncustomed  goods.  Men 
who  are  disobedient  both  to  human  and  divine  laws,  are 
not  always  insensible  to  the  claims  of  courage  and  gen- 
erosity. We  were  assured  that  the  mob  of  Edinburgh, 
strongly  moved  with  the  hardships  of  Wilson's  situation, 
and  the  gallantry  of  his  conduct,  would  back  any  bold 
attempt  that  might  be  made  to  rescue  him  even  from  the 
foot  of  the  gibbet.  Desperate  as  the  attempt  seemed,  upon 
my  declaring  myself  ready  to  lead  the  onset  on  the  guard, 
I  found  no  want  of  followers  who  engaged  to  stand  by  me, 
and  returned  to  Lothian,  soon  joined  by  some  steady  asso- 
ciates, prepared  to  act  whenever  the  occasion  might  re- 
quire. 

"I  have  no  doubt  I  should  have  rescued  him  from  the 
Tiery  noose  that  dangled  over  his  head,"  he  continued  with 
animation,  which  seemed  a  flash  of  the  interest  which  he 
had  taken  in  such  exploits;  "but  amongst  other  precau- 
tions, the  magistrates  had  taken  one,  suggested,  as  we 
afterward  learned,  by  the  unhappy  wretch  Porteous,  which 
efToc'tually  disconeorted  my  measures.  They  anticipated, 
by  half-an-hour,  the  ordinary-  i)eriod  for  execution;  and, 
as  it  had  been  resolved  amongst  us,  that,  for  fear  of  ob- 
sen-ation  from  the  officers  of  justice,  we  .should  not  show 
ourselves  upon  the  street  until  the  time  of  action  ap- 
proached, it  followed  that  all  was  over  before  our  attempt 
at  a  rescue  conmienced.  It  did  commence,  however,  and  I 
gained  the  scaffold  and  cut  the  rope  with  my  own  hand. 
It  was  too  late!  The  bold,  atout-h(\irted,  generous  criminal 
was  no  more — and  vengeance  was  all  that  remained  to  us 
— a  vengeance,  as  I  then  thought,  doubly  due  from  my 


396  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIA^^ 

hand,  to  -whom  Wilson  had  given  life  and  liberty  when  he 
could  as  easily  have  secured  his  own." 

"O  sir,"  said  Jeanie,  "did  the  Scripture  never  come 
into  your  mind,  'Vengeance  is  mine,  and  I  will  repay 
it'?" 

"Scripture?  Why,  I  had  not  opened  a  Bible  for  five 
years,"  answered  Staunton. 

"Wae's  me,  sirs,"  said  Jeanie — "and  a  minister's  son 
too!" 

"It  is  natural  for  you  to  say  so;  yet  do  not  interrupt 
me,  but  let  me  finish  my  most  accursed  history.  The 
beast,  Porteous,  who  kept  firing  on  the  people  long  after 
it  had  ceased  to  be  necessary,  became  the  object  of  their 
hatred  for  having  overdone  his  duty,  and  of  mine  for  hav- 
ing done  it  too  well.  We — that  is,  I  and  the  other  deter- 
mined friends  of  Wilson — resolved  to  be  avenged;  but 
caution  was  necessary.  I  thought  I  had  been  marked  by 
one  of  the  officers,  and  therefore  continued  to  lurk  about 
the  vicinity  of  Edinburgh,  but  w^ithout  daring  to  venture 
within  the  walls.  At  length,  I  visited,  at  the  hazard  of  my 
life,  the  place  where  I  hoped  to  find  my  future  wife  and 
my  son — they  were  both  gone.  Dame  Murdockson  in- 
formed me,  that  so  soon  as-  Effie  heard  of  the  miscarriage 
of  the  attempt  to  rescue  Wilson,  and  the  hot  pursuit  after 
me,  she  fell  into  a  brain  fever;  and  that  being  one  day 
obliged  to  go  out  on  some  necessary  business  and  leave 
her  alone,  she  had  taken  that  opportunity  to  escape,  and 
she  had  not  seen  her  since.  I  loaded  her  with  reproaches, 
to  which  she  listened  with  the  most  provoking  and  callous 
composure;  for  it  is  one  of  her  attributes,  that,  violent 
and  fierce  as  she  is  upon  most  occasions,  there  are  some 
in  which  she  shows  the  most  imperturbable  calmness.  I 
threatened  her  with  justice;  she  said  I  had  more  reason  to 
fear  justice  than  she  had.  I  felt  she  was  right,  and  was 
silenced.  I  threatened  her  with  vengeance;  she  replied 
in  nearly  the  same  words,  that,  to  judge  by  injuries  re- 
ceived, I  had  more  reason  to  fear  her  vengeance,  than 
she  to  dread  mine.  She  was  again  right,  and  I  was  left 
"without  an  answer.  I  flung  myself  from  her  in  indigna- 
tion, and  employed  a  comrade  to  make  inquiry  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Saint  Leonard's  concerning  your  sister; 
but  ere  I  received  his  answer,  the  opening  quest  of  a  well- 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  397 

scented  terrier  of  the  law  drove  me  from  the  vicinity  of 
Edinburgh  to  a  more  distant  and  secluded  place  of  con- 
cealment. A  secret  and  trusty  emissary  at  length  brought 
me  the  account  of  Porteous's  condemnation,  and  of  your 
sister's  imprisonment  on  a  criminal  charge;  thus  astound- 
ing one  of  mine  ears,  while  he  gratified  the  other. 

"I  again  ventured  to  the  Pleasance — again  charged 
^lurdockson  with  treachery  to  the  unfortunate  Effie  and 
her  child,  though  I  could  conceive  no  reason,  save  that  of 
appropriating  the  whole  of  the  money  I  had  lodged  with 
her.  Your  narrative  throws  light  on  this,  and  shows  an- 
other motive,  not  less  powerful  because  less  evident — the 
desire  of  wreaking  vengeance  on  the  seducer  of  her 
daughter, — the  destroyer  at  once  of  her  reason  and  reputa- 
tion. Great  God !  how  I  wish  that,  instead  of  the  re- 
venge she  made  choijce  of,  she  had  delivered  me  up  to 
the  cord!" 

"But  what  account  did  the  wretched  woman  give  of 
Effie  and  the  bairn  ?"  said  Jeanie,  who,  during  this  long 
and  agitating  narrative,  had  firmness  and  discernment 
enough  to  keep  her  eye  on  such  points  as  might  throw 
light  on  her  sister's  misfortunes. 

''She  would  give  none,"  said  Staunton;  "she  said  the 
mother  made  a  moonlight  flitting  from  her  house,  with  the 
infant  in  her  arms — that  she  had  never  seen  either  of 
them  since — that  the  lass  might  have  thrown  the  child 
into  the  Xorth  Loch  or  the  Quarry  Holes,  for  what  she 
knew,  and   it  was  like  enough  she  had  done  so." 

"And  how  came  you  to  believe  that  she  did  not  speak 
the  fatal  truth?"  said  Jeanie.  trembling, 

"Because,  on  this  second  occasion,  I  saw  her  daughter, 
and  I  understood  from  her,  that,  in  fact,  the  child  had 
been  removed  or  destroyed  during  the  illness  of  the 
mother.  But  all  knowledge  to  be  got  from  her  is  so  un- 
certain and  indirect,  that  I  could  not  collect  any  farther 
circumstances.  Only  the  diabolical  character  of  Old 
Murdockson  makes  me  augur  the  worst." 

"The  last  account  agrees  with  that  given  by  my  poor 
sister,"  said  Jeanie;  "but  gang  on  wi'  your  ain  tale,  sir." 

"Of  this  I  am  certain,"  said  Staunt^in,  "that  Effie,  in 
her  senses,  and  with  her  knowledge,  never  injured  living 
creature — But   what    could    I    do    in   her   exculpation? — 


398  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Nothing — and,  therefore,  my  whole  thoughts  were  turned 
toward  her  safety.  I  was  under  the  cursed  necessity  of 
suppressing  my  feelings  toward  Murdockson ;  my  life  was 
in  the  hag's  hand — that  I  cared  not  for;  but  on  my  life 
hung  that  of  your  sister.  I  spoke  the  wretch  fair;  I  ap- 
peared to  confide  in  her;  and  to  me,  so  far  as  I  was  per- 
sonally concerned,  she  gave  proofs  of  extraordinary 
fidelity.  I  was  at  first  uncertain  what  measures  I  ought 
to  adopt  for  your  sister's  liberation,  when  the  general 
rage  excited  among  the  citizens  of  Edinburgh  on  account 
of  the  reprieve  of  Porteous,  suggested  to  me  the  daring 
idea  of  forcing  the  jail,  and  at  once  carrying  off  your 
sister  from  the  clutches  of  the  law,  and  bringing  to  con- 
dign punishment  a  miscreant,  who  had  tormented  the 
unfortunate  Wilson  even  in  the  hour  of  death,  as  if  he 
had  been  a  wild  Indian  taken  captive  by  a  hostile  tribe. 
I  flung  myself  among  the  multitude  in  the  moment  of 
fermentation — so  did  others  among  Wilson's  mates,  who 
had,  like  me,  been  disappointed  in  the  hope  of  glutting 
their  eyes  with  Porteous's  execution.  All  was  organized, 
and  I  was  chosen  for  the  captain.  I  felt  not — I  do  not 
now  feel,  compunction  for  what  was  to  be  done,  and  has 
since  been  executed." 

"Oh,  God  forgive  ye,  sir,  and  bring  ye  to  a  better  sense 
of  your  ways !"  exclaimed  Jeanie,  in  horror  at  the  avowal 
of  such  violent  sentiments. 

"Amen,"  replied  Staunton,  "if  my  sentiments  are 
wrong.  But  I  repeat,  that,  although  willing  to  aid  the 
deed,  I  could  have  wished  them  to  have  chosen  another 
leader;  because  I  foresaw  that  the  great  and  general 
duty  of  the  night  would  interfere  with  the  assistance 
which  I  proposed  to  render  Effie.  I  gave  a  commission, 
however,  to  a  trusty  friend  to  protect  her  to  a  place  of 
safety,  so  soon  as  the  fatal  procession  had  left  the  jail. 
But  for  no  persuasions  which  I  could  use  in  the  hurry  of 
the  moment,  or  which  my  comrade  employed  at  more 
length,  after  the  mob  had  taken  a  different  direction, 
could  the  unfortunate  girl  be  prevailed  upon  to  leave  the 
prison.  His  arguments  were  all  wasted  upon  the  in- 
fatuated victim,  and  he  was  obliged  to  leave  her  in  order 
to  attend  to  his  own  safety.     Such  was  his  account;  but 


THE    HEART    OF    MlD-LOTHlAN  399 

perhaps,  he  persevered  less  steadily  in  his  attempt  to  per- 
suade her  than  I  would  have  done." 

"Effie  was  ri^ht  to  remain,"  said  Jeanie;  "and  1  love 
her  the  better  for  it." 

"Why  will  you  say  so?"  said  Staunton. 

"You  ("annot  understand  my  reasons,  sir,  if  I  should 
render  them,"  answered  Jeanie  composedly;  "they  that 
thirst  for  the  blood  of  their  enemies  have  no  taste  for  the 
well-spring  of  life." 

''!My  hojies,"  said  Staunton,  "were  thus  a  second  time 
disappoint^^d.  Aly  next  efforts  were  to  bring  her  through 
her  trial  by  means  of  yourself.  How  I  urged  it,  and 
where,  you  cannot  have  forgotten.  I  do  not  blame  you 
for  your  refusal;  it  was  founded,  I  am  convinced,  on 
principle,  and  not  on  indifference  to  your  sister's  fate. 
For  me,  judge  of  me  as  a  man  frantic;  I  knew  not  what 
hand  to  turn  to,  and  all  my  efforts  were  unavailing.  In 
this  condition,  and  close  beset  on  all  sides,  I  thought  of 
what  might  be  done  by  means  of  my  family,  and  their 
influence.  I  fled  from  Scotland — I  reached  this  place — 
my  miserably  wasted  and  unhappy  appearance  procured 
me  from  my  father  that  pardon,  w^hich  a  parent  finds  it 
so  hard  to  refuse,  even  to  the  most  undeserving  son.  And 
here  I  have  awaited  in  anguish  of  mind,  which  the  con- 
demned criminal  might  envv,  the  event  of  your  sister's 
trial." 

"Without  taking  any  steps  for  her  relief?"  said  Jeanie. 

"To  the  last  I  hoped  her  case  might  terminate  more 
favorably;  and  it  is  only  two  days  since  that  the  fatal 
tidings  reached  me.  My  resolution  was  instantly  taken. 
I  mounted  my  best  horse  with  the  purpose  of  making  the 
utmost  haste  to  London,  and  there  compounding  with  Sir 
Robert  Walpole  for  your  sister's  safety,  by  surrendering 
to  him,  in  the  person  of  the  heir  of  the  family  of  Willing- 
ham,  the  notorious  deorge  Robertson,  the  accomplice  of 
Wilson,  the  breaker  of  the  Tolbooth  prison,  and  the  well- 
known  leader  of  the  Porteous  mob  " 

"But  would  that  save  my  sister?"  siiid  Jeanie,  in 
astonishment. 

"It  would,  as  I  should  drive  my  bargain,"  said  Staunton. 
"Queens  love  revenge  as  well  as  their  subjects — Little  as 
you  seem  to  esteem  it,  it  is  a  poison  wliich  pleases  all 


400  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

palates,  from  the  prince  to  the  peasant.  Prime  ministers 
love  no  less  the  power  of  pleasing  sovereigns  by  gratifying 
their  passions.  The  life  of  an  obscure  village  girl?  Why, 
I  might  ask  the  best  of  the  crown-jewels  for  laying  the 
head  of  such  an  insolent  conspiracy  at  the  foot  of  her 
Majesty,  with  a  certainty  of  being  gratified.  All  my  other 
plans  have  failed,  but  this  could  not — Heaven  is  just, 
however,  and  would  not  honor  me  with  making  thi.:; 
voluntary  atonement  for  the  injury  I  have  done  your 
sister.  I  had  not  rode  ten  miles,  when  my  horse,  the 
best  and  most  sure-footed  animal  in  this  country,  fell  with 
me  on  a  level  piece  of  road,  as  if  he  had  been  struck  by 
a  cannon-shot.  I  was  greatly  hurt,  and  was  brought  back 
here  in  the  miserable  condition  in  which  you  now  see  me." 

As  young  Staunton  had  come  to  the  conclusion,  the 
servant  opened  the  door,  and,  with  a  voice  which  seemed 
intended  rather  for  a  signal,  than  merely  the  announcing 
of  a  visit,  said,  "His  Reverence,  sir,  is  coming  upstairs 
to  wait  upon  you." 

"For  God's  sake,  hide  yourself,  Jeanie,"  exclaimed 
Staunton,  "in  that  dressing  closet!" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Jeanie ;  "as  I  am  here  for  nae  ill,  I  canna 
take  the  shame  of  hiding  mysell  frae  the  master  o'  the 
house." 

"But,  good  heavens !"  exclaimed  George  Staunton,  "do 
but  consider " 

Ere  he  could  complete  the  sentence,  his  father  entered 
the  apartment. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

And   now,   will  pardon,   comfort,    kindness,    draw 
The  youth  from  vice?   will  honor,  duty,   law? 

Crabbe. 

Jeanie  arose  from  her  seat,  and  made  her  quiet  reverence, 
when  the  elder  Mr.  Staunton  entered  the  apartment.  His 
astonishment  was  extreme  at  finding  his  son  in  such 
company. 

"I  perceive,  madam,"  he  said,  "I  have  made  a  mistake 
respecting  you,  and  ought  to  have  left  the  task  of  inter- 
rogating you,  and  of  righting  your  wrongs,  to  this  young 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIMST  401 

man,  with  whom,  doubtless,  you  have  been  formerly  ac- 
quainted." 

"It's  unwitting:  on  my  part  tliat  I  am  here,"  said  Jeanie; 
"the  sen-ant  told  me  his  master  wished  to  speak  with  me." 

''There  g-oes  the  purple  coat  over  my  ears,"  murmured 
Tummas.  "D — n  her,  why  must  she  needs  speak  the 
truth,  when  she  could  have  as  well  said  anything  else  she 
had  a  mind?" 

"George,"  said  Mr.  Staunton,  "if  you  are  still — as  you 
have  ever  been — lost  to  all  self-respect,  you  might  at  least 
have  spared  your  father,  and  your  father's  house,  such  a 
disgraceful  scene  as  this." 

"Upon  my  life — upon  my  soul,  sir!"  said  George,  throw- 
ing his  feet  over  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  starting  from  his 
recumbent  posture. 

"Your  life,  sir!"  interrupted  his  father,  with  melan- 
choly sternness, — "What  sort  of  life  has  it  been  ? — Your 
soul !  alas !  what  regard  have  you  ever  paid  to  it  ?  Take 
care  to  reform  both  ere  offering  either  as  pledges  of  your 
sincerity." 

"On  my  honor,  sir,  you  do  me  wrong-,"  answered  George 
Staunton ;  "I  have  been  all  that  you  can  call  me  that's 
bad,  but  in  the  present  instance  you  do  me  injustice.  By 
my  honor,  you  do!" 

"Your  honor!''  said  his  father,  and  turned  from  him, 
with  a  look  of  the  most  upbraiding  contempt,  to  Jeanie. 
"From  you,  young  woman,  I  neither  ask  nor  expect  any 
explanation ;  but,  as  a  father  alike  and  as  a  clergyman,  I 
request  your  departure  from  this  house.  If  your  romantic 
story  has  been  other  than  a  pretext  to  find  admission  into 
it  (which,  from  the  society  in  which  you  first  appeared.  I 
may  be  permitted  to  doubt),  you  will  find  a  justice  of 
peace  within  two  miles,  with  whom,  more  properly  than 
with  me,  you  may  lodge  your  comjilaint." 

"This  shall  not  be,"  said  George  Staunton,  starting  up 
to  his  feet.  "Sir,  you  are  naturally  kind  and  humane — 
you  shall  not  become  cruel  and  inhosj)itab]e  on  my  ac- 
count. Turn  out  that  eaves(lr<i])ping  rascal,"  j)ointing  to 
Thomas,  "and  get  what  hartshorn  drops,  or  what  better 
receipt  you  have  against  fainting,  and  I  will  explain  to 
you  in  two  words  the  connection  betwixt  this  young  woman 
and  me.    She  shall  not  lose  her  fair  character  through  me. 


402  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

I  have  done  too  much  mischief  to  her  family  already,  and 
I  know  too  well  what  belongs  to  the  loss  of  fame." 

"Leave  the  room,  sir,"  said  the  Rector  to  the  servant; 
and  when  the  man  had  obeyed,  he  carefully  shut  the  door 
behind  him.  Then  addressing  his  son,  he  said  sternly, 
"Now,  sir,  what  new  proof  of  your  infamy  have  you  to 
impart  to  me?" 

Young  Staunton  was  about  to  speak,  but  it  was  one  of 
those  moments  when  persons,  who,  like  Jeanie  Deans, 
possess  the  advantage  of  a  steady  courage  and  unruffled 
temper,  can  assume  the  superiority  over  more  ardent  but 
less  determined  spirits. . 

"Sir."  she  said  to  the  elder  Staunton,  "ye  have  an  un- 
doubted right  to  ask  your  ain  son  to  render  a  reason  of 
his  conduct.  But  respecting  me,  I  am  but  a  wayfaring 
traveller,  no  ways  obligated  or  indebted  to  you,  unless  it 
be  for  the  meal  of  meat  which,  in  my  ain  country,  is 
willingly  gien  by  rich  or  poor,  according  to  their  ability, 
to  those  who  need  it;  and  for  which,  forby  that,  I  am 
willing  to  make  payment,  if  I  didna  think  it  would  be 
an  affront  to  otl'er  siller  in  a  house  like  this^ — only  I  dinna 
ken  the  fashions  of  the  country." 

"This  is  all  very  well,  young  woman,"  said  the  Rector, 
a  good  deal  surprised,  and  unable  to  conjecture  whether 
to  impute  Jeanie's  language  to  simplicity  or  impertinence 
— "this  may  be  all  very  well — but  let  me  bring  it  to  a 
point.  Why  do  you  stop  this  young  man's  mouth,  and 
prevent  his  communicating  to  his  father,  and  his  best 
friend,  an  explanation  (since  he  says  he  has  one)  of 
circumstances  which  seem  in  themselves  not  a  little 
suspicious  ?" 

"He  may  tell  of  his  ain  affairs  what  he  likes,"  answered 
Jeanie ;  "but  my  family  and  friends  have  nae  right  to  hae 
ony  stories  told  anent  them  without  their  express  desire; 
and,  as  they  canna  be  here  to  speak  for  themselves,  I  en- 
treat ye  wadna  ask  Mr.  George  Rob — I  mean  Staunton,  or 
whatever  his  name  is,  ony  questions  anent  me  or  my  folk; 
for  I  maun  be  free  to  tell  you,  that  he  will  neither  have 
the  bearing  of  a  Christian  or  a  gentleman,  if  he  answers 
you  against  my  express  desire." 

"This  is  the  most  extraordinary  thing  I  ever  met  with," 
said  the  Rector,   as,  after  fixing  his  eyes  keenly  on  the 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  403 

placid,  yet  modest  countenance  of  Jeanie,  he  turned  them 
suddenly  upon  his  son,     "^"hat  have  you  to  say,  sir?" 

''That  I  feel  I  have  been  too  hasty  in  my  promise,  sir," 
answered  George  Staunton;  'T  have  no  title  to  make  any 
communications  respecting  the  affairs  of  this  young  per- 
son's family  without  her  assent." 

The  elder  Mr.  Staunton  turned  his  eyes  from  one  to  the 
other  with  marks  of  surprise. 

"This  is  more,  and  worse,  I  fear,"  he  said,  addressing 
his  son,  ''than  one  of  your  frequent  and  disgraceful  con- 
nections— I  insist  upon  knowing  the  mystery." 

"I  have  already  said,  sir,"  replied  his  son  rather  sullenly, 
"that  I  have  no  title  to  mention  the  affairs  of  this  young 
woman's   family  without  her  consent." 

"And  I  hae  nae  mysteries  to  explain,  sir,"  said  Jeanie, 
"but  only  to  pray  you,  as  a  preacher  of  the  gospel  and  a 
gentleman,  to  permit  me  to  go  safe  to  the  next  public- 
house  on  the  Lunnon  road." 

"I  shall  take  care  of  your  safety,"  said  young  Staunton ; 
"you  need  ask  that  favor  from  no  one." 

"Do  you  say  so  before  my  face?"  said  the  justly  in- 
censed father.  "Perhaps,  sir,  you  intend  to  fill  up  the  cup 
of  disobedience  and  profligacy  by  forming  a  low  and  dis- 
graceful marriage?     But  let  me  bid  you  beware." 

"If  you  were  feared  for  sic  a  thing  happening  wi'  me. 
sir,"  said  Jeanie,  "I  can  only  say,  that  not  for  all  the  land 
that  lies  between  the  twa  ends  of  the  rainbow^  wad  I  be 
the  woman  that  should  wed  your  son." 

"There  is  something  very  singular  in  all  this,"  said  the 
elder  Staunton;  "follow  me  into  the  next  room,  young 
woman." 

"Hear  me  speak  first,"  said  the  young  man.  "I  have 
but  one  word  to  say,  I  confide  entirely  in  your  prudence; 
tell  my  father  as  much  or  as  little  of  these  matters  as  you 
will,  he  shall  know  neither  more  nor  less  from  me," 

His  father  darted  at  him  a  glance  of  indignation, 
which  softened  into  sorrow  as  he  saw  him  sink  down  on 
the  couch,  exhausted  with  the  scene  he  had  undergone. 
He  left  the  apartment,  and  Jeanie  followed  him,  George 
Staunton  raising  himself  as  she  passed  the  doorway,  and 
pronouncing  the  word,  "Remember!"  in  a  tone  as  moni- 
tory as  it  was  uttered  by  Charles  I.  upon  the  scaffold. 


404  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

The  elder  Staunton  led  the  way  into  a  small  parlor,  and 
shut  the  door. 

"Young  woman,"  said  he,  "there  is  something  in  your 
face  and  appearance  that  marks  both  sense  and  simplicity, 
and,  if  I  am  not  deceived,  innocence  also — Should  it  be 
otherwise,  I  can  only  say,  you  are  the  most  accomplished 
hypocrite  I  have  ever  seen. — I  ask  to  know  no  secret  that 
you  have  unwillingness  to  divulge,  least  of  all  those  which 
concern  my  son.  His  conduct  has  given  me  too  much  un- 
happiness  to  permit  me  to  hope  comfort  or  satisfaction 
from  him.  If  you  are  such  as  I  suppose  you,  believe  me, 
that  whatever  unhappy  circumstances  may  have  connected 
you  with  George  Staunton,  the  sooner  you  break  them 
through   the  better." 

"I  think  I  understand  your  meaning,  sir,"  replied 
Jeanie;  "and  as  ye  are  sae  frank  as  to  speak  o'  the  young 
gentleman  in  sic  a  way,  I  must  needs  say  that  it  is  bu^ 
the  second  time  of  my  speaking  wi'  him  in  our  lives,  and 
what  I  hae  heard  frae  him  on  these  twa  occasions '  has 
been  such  that  I  never  wish  to  hear  the  like  again." 

"Then  it  is  your  real  intention  to  leave  this  part  of  the 
country,  and  proceed  to  London?"  said  the  Rector. 

"Certainly,  sir:  for  I  may  say,  in  one  sense,  that  the 
avenger  of  blood  is  behind  me;  and  if  I  were  but  assured 
against  mischief  by  the  way " 

"I  have  made  inquiry,"  said  the  clergyman,  "after  the 
suspicious  characters  you  described.  They  have  left  their 
place  of  rendezvous;  but  as  they  may  be  lurking  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  as  you  say  you  have  special  reason  to 
apprehend  violence  from  them,  I  will  put  you  under  the 
charge  of  a  steady  person,  who  will  protect  you  as  far  as 
Stamford,  and  see  you  into  a  light  coach,  which  goes  from 
thence  to  London." 

"A  coach  is  not  for  the  like  of  me,  sir,"  said  Jeanie; 
to  whom  the  idea  of  a  stage-coach  was  unknown,  as,  in- 
deed, they  were  then  only  used  in  the  neighborhood  of 
London. 

Mr,  Staunton  briefly  explained  that  she  would  find  that 
mode  of  convenience  more  commodious,  cheaper,  and  more 
safe,  than  travelling  on  horseback.  She  expressed  her 
gratitude  with  so  much  singleness  of  heart  that  he  was 
induced   to   ask   her   whether   she   wanted   the   pecuniary 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  405 

means  of  prosecuting  her  journey.  She  thanked  him,  but 
said  she  had  enough  for  her  purpose;  and,  indeed,  she 
had  husbanded  her  stock  with  great  care.  This  reply 
served  also  to  remove  some  doubts,  which  naturally 
enough  still  floated  in  Mr.  Staunton's  mind,  respecting 
her  character  and  real  purpose,  and  satisfied  him,  at  least, 
that  money  did  not  enter  into  her  scheme  of  deception, 
if  an  impostor  she  should  prove.  He  next  requested  to 
know  what  part  of  the  city  she  wished  to  go  to. 

"To  a  very  decent  merchant,  a  cousin  o'  my  ain,  a  Mrs. 
Glass,  sir,  that  sells  snuff  and  tobacco,  at  the  sign  o'  the 
Thistle,  somegate  in  the  town." 

Jeanie  communicated  this  intelligence  with  a  feeling 
that  a  connection  so  respectable  ought  to  give  her  conse- 
quence in  the  eyes  of  ^fr.  Staunton ;  and  she  was  a  good 
deal  surprised  when  he  answered — 

"And  is  this  woman  your  only  acquaintance  in  London, 
my  poor  girl?  and  have  you  really  no  better  knowledge 
where  she  is  to  be  found  ?" 

'T  was  gaun  to  see  the  Duke  of  Argyle.  forby  IMrs. 
Glass,"  said  Jeanie;  "and  if  your  honor  thinks  it  would 
be  best  to  go  there  first,  and  get  some  of  his  Grace's  folk 
to  show  me  mv  cousin's  shop " 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  any  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle's 
people?"  said  the  Rector. 
JNo,  Sir. 

"Her  brain  must  be  something  touched  after  all,  or  it 
would  be  impossible  for  her  to  rely  on  such  introductions. 
— Well,"  said  he  aloud,  "I  must  not  inquire  into  the 
cause  of  your  journey,  and  so  I  cannot  be  fit  to  give  you 
advice  how  to  manage  it.  But  the  landlady  of  the 
house  where  the  coach  stops  is  a  very  decent  person ;  and 
as  I  use  her  house  sometimes,  I  will  give  you  a  recom- 
mendation to  her." 

Jeanie  thanked  him  for  his  kindness  with  her  best 
courtesy,  and  said,  "That  with  his  honor's  line,  and  ane 
from  worthy  Mrs.  Bickerton,  that  keeps  the  Seven  Stars 
at  York,  she  did  not  doubt  to  be  well  taken  out  in 
Lunnon." 

"And  now,"  said  he,  "I  presume  you  will  be  desirous  to 
set  out  immediately." 

"If  I  had  been  in  an   inn,  sir,  or  any  suitable  resting- 


406  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

place,"  answered  Jeanie,  '^I  wad  not  have  presumed  to 
use  the  Lord's  day  for  travelling-;  but  as  I  am  on  a 
journey  of  mercy,  I  trust  my  doing  so  will  not  be 
imputed." 

"You  may,  if  you  choose,  remain  with  Mrs.  Dalton  for 
the  evening;  but  I  desire  you  will  have  no  further  corre- 
spondence with  my  son,  who  is  not  a  proper  counsellor  for 
a  person  of  your  age,  whatever  your  difficulties  may  be." 

"Your  honor  speaks  ower  truly  in  that,"  said  Jeanie; 
"it  was  not  with  my  will  that  I  spoke  wi'  him  just  now, 
and — not  to  wish  the  gentleman  onything  but  gude — I 
never  wish  to  see  him  between  the  een  again." 

"If  you  please,"  added  the  Rector,  "as  you  seem  to  be 
a  seriously  disposed  young  woman,  you  may  attend  family 
worship  in  the  hall  this  evening." 

"I  thank  your  honor,"  said  Jeanie,  "but  I  am  doubtful 
if  my  attendance  would  be  to  edification." 

"How,"  said  the  Rector;  "so  young,  and  already  un- 
fortunate enough  to  have  doubts  upon  the  duties  of 
religion !" 

"God  forbid,  sir,"  replied  Jeanie;  "it  is  not  for  that; 
but  I  have  been  bred  in  the  faith  of  the  suffering  rem- 
nant of  the  Presbyterian  doctrine  in  Scotland,  and  I  am 
doubtful  if  I  can  lawfully  attend  upon  your  fashion  of 
worship,  seeing  it  has  been  testified  against  by  many 
precious  souls  of  our  kirk,  and  specially  by  my  worthy 
father." 

"Well,  my  good  girl,"  said  the  Rector,  with  a  good- 
humored  smile,  "far  be  it  from  me  to  put  any  force  upon 
your  conscience;  and  yet  you  ought  to  recollect  that  the 
same  divine  grace  dispenses  its  streams  to  other  kingdoms 
as  well  as  to  Scotland.  As  it  is  as  essential  to  our  spiritual, 
as  water  to  our  earthly  wants,  its  springs,  various  in  char- 
acter, yet  alike  efficacious  in  virtue,  are  to  be  found  in 
abundance  throughout  the  Christian  world." 

"Ay,  but,"  said  Jeanie,  "though  the  waters  may  be  alike, 
yet,  with  your  worship's  leave,  the  blessing  upon  them  may 
not  be  equal.  It  would  have  been  in  vain  for  Naaman  the 
Syrian  leper  to  have  bathed  in  Pharphar  and  Abana, 
rivers  of  Damascus,  when  it  was  only  the  waters  of  Jordan 
that  were  sanctified  for  the  cure." 

"Well,"  said  the  Rector,  "we  will  not  enter  upon  the  great 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  407 

debate  betwixt  our  iiatit>nal  churches  at  i»resent.  We  must 
endeavor  to  satisfy  you,  that,  at  least,  amongst  our 
errors,  we  preserve  Christian  charity,  and  a  desire  to  assist 
our  brethren." 

He  then  ordered  Mrs.  Dalton  into  his  presence,  and 
consigned  Jeanie  to  her  particular  charge,  with  directions 
to  be  kind  to  her,  and  with  assurances,  thatj  early  in  the 
morning,  a  trusty  guide  and  a  good  hors;e  should  be  ready 
to  conduct  her  to  Stamford.  He  then  t«»ok  a  serious  and 
dignified,  yet  kind  leave  of  her,  wishing  her  full  success 
in  the  objects  of  her  journey,  which  he  said  he  doubted 
not  were  laudable,  from  the  soundness  of  thinking  which 
she  had  displayed  in  conversation. 

Jeanie  was  again  conducted  by  the  housekeeper  to  her 
own  apartment.  But  the  evening  was  not  destined  to 
pass  over  without  further  torment  from  young  Staunton. 
A  paper  was  slipped  into  her  hand  by  the  faithful  Tum- 
mas,  which  intimated  his  young  master's  desire,  or  rather 
demand,  to  see  her  instantly,  and  assured  her  he  had 
provided  against  interruption. 

''Tell  your  young  master,"  said  Jeanie  openly,  and 
regardless  of  all  the  winks  and  signs  by  which  Tummas 
strove  to  make  her  comprehend  that  Mrs.  Dalton  was  not 
to  be  admitted  into  the  secret  of  the  correspondence,  ''that 
I  promised  faithfully  to  his  worthy  father  that  I  would 
not  see  him  again." 

''Tummas,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  "I  think  you  might  be 
much  more  creditably  employed,  considering  the  coat  you 
wear,  and  the  house  you  live  in,  than  to  be  carrying 
messages  between  your  young  master  and  girls  that  chance 
to  be  in  this  house." 

"Why,  Mrs.  Dalton,  as  to  that,  I  was  hired  to  carry  mes- 
sages, and  not  to  ask  any  questions  about  them;  and  it's 
not  for  the  like  of  me  to  refuse  the  young  gentleman's 
bidding,  if  he  were  a  little  wildish  or  so.  If  there  was 
harm  meant,  there's  no  harm  done,  you  see." 

"However,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  "I  gie  you  fair  warning, 
Tummas  Ditton,  that  an  I  catch  thee  at  this  work  again, 
his  Reverence  shall  make  a  clear  house  of  you." 

Tummas  retired,  abashed  and  in  dismay.  The  rest  of  | 
the  evening  passed  away  without  anything  worthy  of  ' 
notice. 


408  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Jeanie  enjoyed  the  comforts  of  a  good  bed  arxd  a  sound 
sleep  with  grateful  satisfaction,  after  the  perils  and  hard- 
ships of  the  preceding  day;  and  such  was  her  fatigue, 
that  she  slept  soundly  until  six  o'clock,  when  she  was 
awakened  by  Mrs.  Dalton,  who  acquainted  her  that  her 
guide  and  horse  were  ready,  and  in  attendance.  She 
hastily  rose,  and,  after  her  morning  devotions,  was  soon 
ready  to  resume  her  travels.  The  motherly  care  of  the 
housekeeper  had  provided  an  early  breakfast,  and,  after 
she  had  partaken  of  this  refreshment,  she  found  herself 
safe  seated  on  a  pillion  behind  a  stout  Lincolnshire 
peasant,  who  was,  besides,  armed  with  pistols,  to  protect 
her  against  any  violence  which  might  be  offered. 

They  trudged  on  in  silence  for  a  mile  or  two  along 
a  country  road,  which  conducted  them,  by  hedge  and  gate- 
way, into  the  principal  highway,  a  little  beyond  Grantham. 
At  length  her  master  of  the  horse  asked  her  whether  her 
name  was  not  Jean,  or  Jane,  Deans.  She  answered  in 
the  affirmative,  with  some  surprise.  "Then  here's  a  bit 
of  a  note  as  concerns  you,''  said  the  man,  handing  it  over 
his  left  shoulder.  "It's  from  young  master,  as  I  judge, 
and  every  man  about  Willingham  is  fain  to  pleasure  him 
either  for  love  or  fear;  for  he'll  come  to  be  landlord  at 
last,  let  them  say  what  they  like." 

Jeanie  broke  the  seal  of  the  note,  which  was  addressed 
to  her,  and  read  as  follows : — 

"You  refuse  to  see  me.  I  suppose  you  are  shocked  at 
my  character:  but,  in  painting  myself  such  as  I  am,  you 
should  give  me  credit  for  my  sincerity.  I  am,  at  least,  no 
hypocrite.  You  refuse,  however,  to  see  me,  and  your  con- 
duct may  be  natural — but  is  it  wise?  I  have  expressed 
my  anxiety  to  repair  your  sister's  misfortunes  at  the 
expense  of  my  honor, — my  family's  honor — my  own  life; 
and  you  think  me  too  debased  to  be  admitted  even  to 
sacrifice  what  I  have  remaining  of  honor,  fame,  and  life, 
in  her  cause.  Well,  if  the  offerer  be  despised,  the  victim 
is  still  equally  at  hand;  and  perhaps  there  may  be  justice 
in  the  decree  of  Heaven,  that  I  shall  not  have  the  melan- 
choly credit  of  appearing  to  make  this  sacrifice  out  of  my 
own  free  good-will.  You,  as  you  have  declined  my  con- 
currence, must  take  the  whole  upon  yourself.  Go,  then, 
to  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  and,  when  other  arguments  fail 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  409 

you.  tell  him  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  bring  to  con- 
dign punishment  the  most  active  conspirator  in  the 
Porteous  mob.  He  will  hear  you  on  this  topic,  should  he 
be  deaf  to  every  other.  Make  your  own  terms,  for  they 
will  be  at  your  own  making.  You  know  where  I  am  to 
be  found ;  and  you  may  be  assured  I  will  not  give  you  the 
dark  side  of  the  hill,  as  at  Muschat's  Cairn;  I  have  no 
thoughts  of  stirring  from  the  house  I  was  born  in;  like 
the  hare,  I  shall  be  worried  in  the  seat  I  started  from.  I 
repeat  it — make  your  own  terms.  I  need  not  remind  you 
to  ask  your  sister's  life,  for  that  you  will  do  of  course; 
but  make  terms  of  advantage  for  yourself — ask  w^ealth 
and  reward — office  and  income  for  Butler — ask  anything — 
you  will  get  anything — and  all  for  delivering  to  the  hands 
of  the  executioner  a  man  most  deserving  of  his  office; — 
one  who,  though  young  in  years,  is  old  in  wickedness,  and 
whose  most  earnest  desire  is,  after  the  storms  of  an  un- 
quiet life,  to  sleep  and  be  at  rest." 

This  extraordinary  letter  was  subscribed  with  the  ini- 
tials G.  S. 

Jeanie  read  it  over  once  or  twice  with  great  attention, 
which  the  slow  pace  of  the  horse,  as  he  stalked  through  a 
deep  lane,  enabled  her  to  do  with  facility. 
[  When  she  had  perused  this  billet,  her  first  employment 
[was  to  tear  it  into  as  small  pieces  as  possible,  and  dis- 
perse these  pieces  in  the  air  by  a  few  at  a  time,  so  that  a 
document  containing  so  perilous  a  secret  might  not  fall 
into  any  other  person's  hand. 

I  The  question  how  far,  in  point  of  extremity,  she  was  en- 
Ititled  to  save  her  sister's  life  by  sacrificing  that  of  a 
iperson  who,  though  guilty  toward  the  state,  had  done  her 
!no  injury,  formed  the  next  earnest  and  most  painful  sub- 
ject of  consideration.  In  one  sense,  indeed,  it  seemed 
as  if  denouncing  the  guilt  of  Staunton,  the  cause  of  her 
sister's  errors  and  misfortunes,  would  have  been  an  act 
of  just,  and  even  providential  retribution.  But  Jeanie,  in 
the  strict  and  severe  tone  of  morality  in  which  she  was 
educated,  had  to  consider  not  only  the  general  aspect  of 
a  proposed  action,  but  its  justness  and  fitness  in  relation 
to  the  actor,  before  she  could  be,  according  to  her  own 
phrase,  free  to  enter  upon  it.  What  right  had  she  to 
make  a  barter  between  the  lives  of  Staunton  and  of  Effie, 


410  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

and  to  sacrifice  the  one  for  the  safety  of  the  other?  His 
guilt — that  guilt  for  which  he  was  amenable  to  the  laws — 
was  a  crime  against  the  public  indeed,  but  it  was  not 
against  her. 

Neither  did  it  seem  to  her  that  his  share  in  the  death 
of  Porteous,  though  her  mind  revolted  at  the  idea  of  using 
violence  to  any  one,  was  in  the  relation  of  a  common 
murder,  against  the  perpetrator  of  which  every  one  is 
called  to  aid  the  public  magistrate.  That  violent  action 
was  blended  with  many  circumstances,  which,  in  the 
eyes  of  those  of  Jeanie's  rank  in  life,  if  they  did  not 
altogether  deprive  it  of  the  character  of  guilt,  softened, 
at  least,  its  most  atrocious  features.  The  anxiety  of  the 
government  to  obtain  conviction  of  some  of  the  offenders, 
had  but  served  to  increase  the  public  feeling  which  con- 
nected the  action,  though  violent  and  irregular,  with  the 
idea  of  ancient  national  independence.  The  rigorous  pro- 
cedure adopted  or  proposed  against  the  city  of  Edin- 
burgh, the  ancient  metropolis  of  Scotland — the  extremely 
unpopular  and  injudicious  measure  of  compelling  the 
Scottish  clergy,  contrary  to  their  principles  and  sense  of 
duty,  to  promulgate  from  the  pulpit  the  reward  offered 
for  the  discovery  of  the  perpetrators  of  this  slaughter, 
had  produced  on  the  public  mind  the  opposite  conse- 
quences from  what  were  intended;  and  Jeanie  felt  con- 
scious, that  whoever  should  lodge  information  concerning 
that  event,  and  for  whatsoever  purpose  it  might  be  done, 
it  would  be  considered  as  an  act  of  treason  against  the 
independence  of  Scotland.  With  the  fanaticism  of  the 
Scotch  Presbyterians,  there  was  always  mingled  a  glow 
of  national  feeling,  and  Jeanie  trembled  at  the  idea  of  her 
name  being  handed  down  to  posterity  with  that  of  the 
"fause  Monteath,"  and  one  or  two  others,  who,  having 
deserted  and  betrayed  the  cause  of  their  country,  are 
damned  to  perpetual  remembrance  and  execration  among 
its  peasantry.  Yet,  to  part  with  Effie's  life  once  more, 
when  a  word  spoken  might  save  it,  pressed  severely  on  the 
mind  of  her  affectionate  sister. 

"The  Lord  support  and  direct  me!"  said  Jeanie,  "for  it 
seems  to  be  His  will  to  try  me  with  difficulties  far  beyond 
my  ain  strength." 

While  this  thought  passed  through  Jeanie's  mind,  her 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  411 

guard,  tired  of  silence,  began  to  show  some  inclination  to 
be  communicative.  He  seemed  a  sensible,  steady  peasant, 
but  not  having  more  delicacy  or  prudence  than  is  common 
to  those  in  his  situation,  he,  of  course,  chose  the  Willing- 
ham  family  as  the  subject  of  his  conversation.  From 
this  man  Jeanie  learned  some  particulars  of  which  she 
had  hitherto  been  ignorant,  and  which  we  will  briefly  re- 
capitulate for  the   information  of   the  reader. 

The  father  of  George  Staunton  had  been  bred  a  soldier, 
and  during  service  in  the  West  Indies,  had  married  the 
heiress  of  a  wealthy  planter.  By  this  lady  he  had  an  only 
child.  George  Staunton,  the  unhappy  young  man  who  has 
been  so  often  mentioned  in  this  narrative.  He  passed  the 
first  part  of  his  early  youth  under  the  charge  of  a  doting 
mother,  and  in  the  society  of  negro  slaves,  whose  study  it 
was  to  gratify  his  every  caprice.  His  father  was  a  man 
of  worth  and  sense;  but  as  he  alone  retained  tolerable 
health  among  the  officers  of  the  regiment  he  belonged  to, 
he  was  much  engaged  with  his  duty.  Besides,  Mrs. 
Staunton  was  beautiful  and  wilful,  and  enjoyed  but  deli- 
cate health;  so  that  it  was  difficult  for  a  man  of  alfection, 
humanity,  and  a  quiet  disposition,  to  struggle  with  her 
on  the  point  of  her  over-indulgence  to  an  only  child. 
Indeed,  what  Mr.  Staunton  did  toward  counteracting  the 
baneful  effects  of  his  wife's  system,  only  tended  to  render 
it  more  pernicious;  for  every  restraint  imposed  on  the 
boy  in  his  father's  presence,  was  compensated  by  treble 
license  during  his  absence.  So  that  George  Staunton 
acquired,  even  in  childhood,  the  habit  of  regarding  his 
father  as  a  rigid  censor,  from  whose  severity  he  was  de- 
sirous of  emancipating  himself  as  soon  and  absolutely  as 
possible. 

When  he  was  about  ten  years  old,  and  when  his  mind 
had  received  all  the  seeds  of  those  evil  weeds  which  after- 
ward grew  apace,  his  mother  died,  and  his  father,  half 
heart-broken,  returned  to  England.  To  sum  up  her  im- 
prudence and  unjustifiable  indulgence,  she  had  contrived 
to  place  a  considerable  part  of  her  fortune  at  her  son's 
exclusive  control  or  disposal;  in  consequence  of  which 
management,  George  Staunton  had  not  been  long  in 
England  till  he  learned  his  independence,  and  how  to 
abuse  it.    His  father  had  endeavored  to  rectify  the  defects 


412  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

of  his  education  by  placing  him  in  a  well-regulated  semi- 
nary. But  although  he  showed  some  capacity  for  learn- 
ing, his  riotous  conduct  soon  became  intolerable  to  his 
teachers.  He  found  means  (too  easily  afforded  to  all 
youths  who  have  certain  expectations)  of  procuring  such 
a  command  of  money  as  enabled  him  to  anticipate  in  boy- 
hood the  frolics  and  follies  of  a  more  mature  age,  and, 
with  these  accomplishments,  he  was  returned  on  his 
father's  hands  as  a  profligate  boy,  whose  example  might 
ruin  a  hundred. 

The  elder  Mr.  Staunton,  whose  mind,  since  his  wife's 
death,  had  been  tinged  with  a  melancholy,  which  certainly 
his  son's  conduct  did  not  tend  to  dispel,  had  taken  orders, 
and  was  inducted  by  his  brother  Sir  William  Staunton 
into  the  family  living  of  Willingham.  The  revenue  was  a 
matter  of  consequence  to  him,  for  he  derived  little  advan- 
tage from  the  estate  of  his  late  wife ;  and  his  own  fortune 
was  that  of  a  younger  brother. 

He  took  his  son  to  reside  with  him  at  the  rectory;  but 
he  soon  found  that  his  disorders  rendered  him  an  in- 
tolerable inmate.  And  as  the  young  men  of  his  own  rank 
would  not  endure  the  purse-proud  insolence  of  the  Creole, 
he  fell  into  that  taste  for  low  society,  which  is  worse  than 
"pressing  to  death,  whipping,  or  hanging."  His  father 
sent  him  abroad,  but  he  only  returned  wilder  and  more 
desperate  than  before.  It  is  true,  this  unhappy  youth  was 
not  without  his  good  qualities.  He  had  lively  wit,  good 
temper,  reckless  generosity,  and  manners  which,  while 
he  was  under  restraint,  might  pass  well  in  society.  But 
all  these  availed  him  nothing.  He  was  so  well  acquainted 
with  the  turf,  the  gaming-table,  the  cock-pit,  and  every 
worse  rendezvous  of  folly  and  dissipation,  that  his  mother's 
fortune  was  spent  before  he  was  twenty-one,  and  he  was 
soon  in  debt  and  in  distress.  His  early  history  may  be 
concluded  in  the  words  of  our  British  Juvenal,  when 
describing  a  similar  character: — 

"Headstrong,  determined  in  his  own  career, 
He  thought  reproof  unjust,  and  truth  severe, 
The  soul's   disease  was  to  its  crisis  come, 
He  first  abused  and  then  abjured  his  home; 
And  when  he  chose  a  vagabond  to  be, 
He  made  his  shame  his  glory,  'I'll  be  free!'" 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  413 

"And  yet  'tis  pity  on  Measter  George,  too,"  continued 
the  honest  boor,  "for  he  has  an  open  hand,  and  winna  let 
a  poor  body  want  an  he  has  it." 

The  virtue  of  profuse  generosity,  by  which,  indeed,  they 
themselves  are  most  directly  advantaged,  is  readily  ad- 
mitted by  the  vulgar  as  a  cloak  for  many  sins. 

At  Stamford  our  heroine  was  deposited  in  safety  by  her 
communicative  guide.  She  obtained  a  place  in  the  coach, 
which,  although  termed  a  light  one,  and  accommodated 
with  no  fewer  than  six  horses,  only  reached  London  on 
the  afternoon  of  the  second  day.  The  recommendation 
of  the  elder  Mr.  Staunton  procured  Jeanie  a  civil  recep- 
tion at  the  inn  where  the  carriage  stopped,  and  by  the 
aid  of  ^frs.  Bickerton's  correspondent,  she  found  out  her 
friend  and  relative  Mrs.  Glass,  by  whom  she  was  kindly 
received  and  hospitably  entertained. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

My  name  is  Argyle,  you  may  well  think  it  strange, 
To  live  at  the  court  and  never  to  change. 

Ballad. 

Few  names  deserve  more  honorable  mention  in  the  history 
of  Scotland,  during  this  period,  than  that  of  John,  Duke 
of  Argyle  and  Greenwich.  '  His  talents  as  a  statesman 
and  a  soldier  were  generally  admitted ;  he  was  not  without 
ambition,  but  "without  the  illness  that  attends  it" — with- 
out that  irregularity  of  thought  and  aim,  which  often 
excites  great  men,  in  his  peculiar  situation  (for  it  was  a 
very  peculiar  one),  to  grasp  the  means  of  raising  them- 
selves to  power,  at  the  risk  of  throwing  a  kingdom 
into  confusion.     Pope  has  distinguished  him  as 

Argyle,  the  state's  whole  thunder  born  to  wield. 
And  shake  alike  the  senate  and  tlie  fiehl. 

He  was  alike  free  from  the  ordinary  vices  of  statesmen, 
falsehood,  namely,  and  dissimulation;  and  from  those  of 
warriors,  inordinate  and  violent  thirst  after  self-aggran- 
dizement. 


414  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

Scotland,  his  native  country,  stood  at  this  time  in  a 
very  precarious  and  doubtful  situation.  She  was  indeed 
united  to  England,  but  the  cement  had  not  had  time  to 
acquire  consistence.  The  irritation  of  ancient  wrongs  still 
subsisted,  and  betwixt  the  fretful  jealousy  of  the  Scot- 
tish, and  the  supercilious  disdain  of  the  English,  quarrels 
repeatedly  occurred,  in  the  course  of  which  the  national 
league,  so  important  to  the  safety  of  both,  was  in  the 
utmost  danger  of  being  dissolved.  Scotland  had,  besides, 
the  disadvantage  of  being  divided  into  intestine  factions, 
which  hated  each  other  bitterly,  and  waited  but  a  signal 
to  break  forth  into  action. 

In  such  circumstances,  another  man,  with  the  talents 
and  rank  of  Argyle,  but  without  a  mind  so  happily  regu- 
lated, would  have  sought  to  rise  from  the  earth  in  the 
whirlwind,  and  direct  its  fury.  He  chose  a  course  more 
safe  and  more  honorable. 

Soaring  above  the  petty  distinctions  of  faction,  his 
voice  was  raised,  whether  in  office  or  opposition,  for  those 
measures  which  were  at  once  just  and  lenient.  His  high 
military  talents  enabled  him,  during  the  memorable  year 
1715,  to  render  such  services  to  the  House  of  Hanover, 
as,  perhaps,  were  too  great  to  be  either  acknowledged  or 
repaid.  He  had  employed,  too,  his  utmost  influence  in 
softening  the  consequences  of  that  insurrection  to  the 
unfortunate  gentlemen,  whom  a  mistaken  sense  of  loyalty 
had  engaged  in  the  affair,  and.  was  rewarded  by  the  esteem 
and  affection  of  his  country  in  an  uncommon  degree. 
This  popularity  with  a  discontented  and  warlike  people, 
was  supposed  to  be  a  subject  of  jealousy  at  court,  where 
the  power  to  become  dangerous  is  sometimes  of  itself 
obnoxious,  though  the  inclination  is  not  united  with  it. 
Besides,  the  Duke  of  Argyle's  independent  and  some- 
what haughty  mode  of  expressing  himself  in  Parliament, 
and  acting  in  public,  were  ill  calculated  to  attract  royal 
favor.  He  was,  therefore,  always  respected,  and  often 
employed ;  but  he  was  not  a  favorite  of  George  the  Second, 
his  consort,  or  his  ministers.  At  several  different  periods 
in  his  life,  the  Duke  might  be  considered  as  in  absolute 
disgrace  at  court,  although  he  could  hardly  be  said  to  be 
a  declared  member  of  opposition.  This  rendered  him 
the  dearer  to  Scotland,  because  it  was  usually  in  her  cause 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  415 

that  he  incurred  the  displeasure  of  his  sovereign;  and 
upon  this  very  occasion  of  the  Porteous  mob,  the  animated 
and  eloquent  opposition  which  he  had  offered  to  the  severe 
measures  which  were  about  to  be  adopted  toward  the  city 
of  Edinburgh,  was  the  more  gratefully  received  in  that 
metropolis,  as  it  was  understood  that  the  Duke's  inter- 
position had  given  personal  offence  to  Queen  Caroline. 

His  conduct  upon  this  occasion,  as,  indeed,  that  of  all 
the  Scottish  members  of  the  legislature,  with  one  or  two 
unworthy  exceptions,  had  been  in  the  highest  degree 
spirited.  The  popular  tradition,  concerning  his  reply 
to  Queen  Caroline,  has  been  given  already,  and  some 
fragments  of  his  speech  against  the  Porteous  Bill  are  still 
remembered.  He  retorted  upon  the  Chancellor,  Lord 
Hardwicke,  the  insinuation  that  he  had  stated  himself 
in  this  case  rather  as  a  party  than  as  a  judge : — 'T  appeal," 
said  Argyle,  "to  the  House — to  the  nation,  if  I  can  be 
justly  branded  with  the  infamy  of  being  a  jobber  or 
a  partisan.  Have  I  been  a  briber  of  votes? — a  buyer  of 
boroughs? — the  agent  of  corruption  for  any  purjDose,  or 
on  behalf  of  any  party? — Consider  my  life;  examine  my 
actions  in  the  field  and  in  the  cabinet,  and  see  where  there 
lies  a  blot  that  can  attach  to  my  honor.  I  have  shown 
myself  the  friend  of  my  country — the  loyal  subject  of  my 
king.  I  am  ready  to  do  so  again,  without  an  instant's 
regard  to  the  frowns  or  smiles  of  a  court.  I  have  ex- 
perienced both,  and  am  prepared  with  indifference  for 
either.  I  have  given  my  reasons  for  opposing  this  bill, 
and  have  made  it  appear  that  it  is  repugnant  to  the  inter- 
national treaty  of  union,  to  the  liberty  of  Scotland,  and, 
reflectively,  to  that  of  England,  to  common  justice,  to 
common  sense,  and  to  the  public  interest.  Shall  the 
metropolis  of  Scotland,  the  capital  of  an  independent 
nation,  the  residence  of  a  lr»ng  line  of  monarchs,  by  whom 
that  noble  city  was  graced  and  dignified — shall  such  a 
city,  for  the  fault  of  an  obscure  and  unknown  body  of 
rioters,  be  deprived  of  its  honors  and  its  privileges — its 
gates  and  its  guards?  —  and  shall  a  native  Scotsman 
tamely  behold  the  havoc?  I  glory,  my  Lords,  in  opposing 
such  unjust  rigor,  and  reckon  it  my  dearest  pride  and 
honor  to  stand  up  in  defence  of  my  native  country,  while 


416  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

thus  laid  open  to  undeserved  shame,  and  unjust 
spoliation." 

Other  statesmen  and  orators,  both  Scottish  and  English, 
used  the  same  arguments,  the  bill  was  gradually  stripped 
of  its  most  oppressive  and  obnoxious  clauses,  and  at  length 
ended  in  a  fine  upon  the  city  of  Edinburgh  in  favor  of 
Porteous's  widow.  So  that,  as  somebody  observed  at  the 
time,  the  whole  of  these  fierce  debates  ended  in  making 
the  fortune  of  an  old  cookmaid,  such  having  been  the 
good  woman's  original  capacity. 

The  court,  however,  did  not  forget  the  baffle  they  had 
received  in  this  affair,  and  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  who  had 
contributed  so  much  to  it,  was  thereafter  considered  as  a 
person  in  disgrace.  It  is  necessary  to  place  these  circum- 
stances under  the  reader's  observation,  both  because  they 
are  connected  with  the  preceding  and  subsequent  part  of 
our  narrative. 

The  Duke  was  alone  in  his  study,  when  one  of  his 
gentlemen  acquainted  him,  that  a  country-girl,  from 
Scotland,  was  desirous  of  speaking  with  his  Grace. 

"A  country-girl,  and  from  Scotland!"  said  the  Duke; 
"what  can  have  brought  the  silly  fool  to  London  ? — Some 
lover  pressed  and  sent  to  sea,  or  some  stock  sunk  in  the 
South-Sea  funds,  or  some  such  hopeful  concern,  I  suppose, 
and  then  nobody  to  manage  the  matter  but  MacCallum- 
more. — Well,  this  same  popularity  has  its  inconveniences. 
— However,  show  our  countrywoman  up,  Archibald, — it 
is  ill  manners  to  keep  her  in  attendance." 

A  young  woman  of  rather  low  stature,  and  whose  counte- 
nance might  be  termed  very  modest,  and  pleasing  in  ex- 
pression, though  sunburnt,  somewhat  freckled,  and  not 
possessing  regular  features,  was  ushered  into  the  splendid 
library.  She  wore  the  tartan  plaid  of  her  country,  ad- 
justed so  as  partly  to  cover  her  head,  and  partly  to  fall 
back  over  her  shoulders.  A  quantity  of  fair  hair,  disposed 
with  great  simplicity  and  neatness,  appeared  in  front  of 
her  round  and  good-humored  face,  to  which  the  solemnity 
of  her  errand,  and  her  sense  of  the  Duke's  rank  and  im- 
portance, gave  an  appearance  of  deep  awe,  but  not  of 
slavish  fear  or  fluttered  bashfulness.  The  rest  of  Jeanie's 
dress  was  in  the  style  of  Scottish  maidens  of  her  own 
class;    but   arranged   with   that    scrupulous    attention   to 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  417 

neatness  and  cleanliness,  which  we  often  find  united  with 
that  purity  of  mind,  of  which  it  is  a  natural  emblem. 

She  stopped  near  the  entrance  of  the  room,  made  her 
deepest  reverence,  and  crossed  her  hands  upon  her  bosom, 
without  uttering  a  syllable.  The  Duke  of  Argyle  ad- 
vanced toward  her;  and,  if  she  admired  his  graceful  de- 
portment and  rich  dress,  decorated  with  the  orders  which 
had  been  deservedly  bestowed  on  him,  his  courteous  man- 
ner, and  quick  and  intelligent  cast  of  countenance,  he, 
on  his  part,  was  not  less,  or  less  deservedly,  struck  with 
the  quiet  simplicity  and  modesty  expressed  in  the  dress, 
manners,  and  countenance  of  his  humble  countrywoman. 

''Did  you  wish  to  speak  with  me,  my  bonny  lass  ?"  said 
the  Duke,  using  the  encouraging  epithet  which  at  once 
acknowledged  the  connection  betwixt  them  as  country- 
folk; ''or  did  you  wish  to  see  the  Duchess?" 

"My  business  is  with  your  honor,  my  Lord — I  mean 
your  Lordship's  Grace." 

"And  what  is  it,  my  good  girl  ?"  said  the  Duke,  in  the 
same  mild  and  encouraging  tone  of  voice.  Jeanie  looked 
at  the  attendant.  "Leave  us,  Archibald,"  said  the  Duke, 
"and  wait  in  the  anteroom."  The  domestic  retired.  "And 
now  sit  down,  my  good  lass,"  said  the  Duke;  "take  your 
breath — take  your  time,  and  tell  me  what  you  have  got 
to  say.  I  guess  by  your  dress,  you  are  just  come  up  from 
poor  old  Scotland — Did  you  come  through  the  streets  in 
your  tartan  plaid?" 

"Xo,  sir,"  said  Jeanie;  "a  friend  brought  me  in  ane  o' 
their  street  coaches — a  very  decent  woman,"  she  added, 
her  courage  increasing  as  she  became  familiar  with  the 
sound  of  her  own  voice  in  such  a  presence;  "your  Lord- 
ship's Grace  kens  her — it's  Mrs.  Glass,  at  the  sign  o'  the 
Thistle." 

"Oh,  my  worthy  snuflF-merchant — I  have  always  a  chat 
with  Mrs.  Glass  when  I  purchase  my  Scotch  high-dried. — 
Well,  but  your  business,  my  bonny  woman — time  and 
tide,  you   know,  wait  for  no  one." 

"Your  honor — I  beg  your  Lordship's  pardon — I  mean 
your  Grace," — for  it  must  be  noticed,  that  this  matter  of 
addressing  the  Duke  by  his  appropriate  title  had  boon 
anxiously  inculcated  upon  Jeanie  by  her  friend  ^Irs.  Glass, 
in  whose  eyes  it  was  a  matter  of  such  importance,   that 


418  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

her  last  words,  as  Jeanie  left  the  coach,  were,  "Mind  to 
say  your  Grace;"  and  Jeanie,  who  had  scarce  ever  in 
her  life  spoke  to  a  person  of  higher  quality  than  the 
Laird  of  Dumbiedikes,  found  great  difficulty  in  arrang- 
ing her  language  according  to  the  rules  of  ceremony. 

The  Duke,  who  saw  her  embarrassment,  said,  with  his 
usual  affability,  "Never  mind  my  grace,  lassie;  just  speak 
out  a  plain  tale,  and  show  you  have  a*  Scotch  tongue  in 
your  head." 

"Sir,  I  am  muckle  obliged — Sir,  I  am  the  sister  of  that 
poor  unfortunate  criminal,  Effie  Deans,  who  is  ordered 
for  execution  at  Edinburgh." 

"Ah!"  said  the  Duke,  "I  have  heard  of  that  unhappy 
story,  I  think — a  case  of  child-murder,  under  a  special  act 
of  parliament — Duncan  Forbes  mentioned  it  at  dinner 
the  other  day." 

"And  I  was  come  up  frae  the  north,  sir,  to  see  what 
could  be  done  for  her  in  the  way  of  getting  a  reprieve  or 
pardon,  sir,  or  the  like  of  that." 

"Alas !  my  poor  girl,"  said  the  Duke,  "you  have  made  a 
long  and  a  sad  journey  to  very  little  purpose — Your 
sister  is  ordered  for  execution." 

"But  I  am  given  to  understand  that  there  is  law  for 
reprieving  her,  if  it  is  in  the  king's  pleasure,"  said 
Jeanie. 

"Certainly  there  is,"  said  the  Duke ;  "but  that  is  purely 
in  the  king's  breast.  The  crime  has  been  but  too  com- 
mon— the  Scotch  crown-lawyers  think  it  is  right  there 
should  be  an  example.  Then  the  late  disorders  in  Edin- 
burgh have  excited  a  prejudice  in  government  against  the 
nation  at  large,  which  they  think  can  only  be  managed 
by  measures  of  intimidation  and  severity.  What  argu- 
ment have  you,  my  poor  girl,  except  the  warmth  of  your 
sisterly  affection,  to  offer  against  all  this? — What  is  your 
interest? — What  friends  have  you  at  court?" 

"None,  excepting  God  and  your  Grace,"  said  Jeanie, 
still  keeping  her  ground  resolutely,  however. 

"Alas!"  said  the  Duke,  "I  could  almost  say  with  old 
Ormond,  that  there  could  not  be  any,  whose  influence  was 
smaller  with  kings  and  ministers.  It  is  a  cruel  part  of 
our  situation,  young  woman — I  mean  of  the  situation  of 
men  in  my  circumstances,  that  the  public  ascribe  to  them 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  419 

influence  which  they  do  not  possess;  and  that  individuals 
are  led  to  expect  from  them  assistance  which  we  have  no 
means  of  rendering.  But  candor  and  plain  dealing  is  in 
the  power  of  every  one,  and  I  must  not  let  you  imagine 
you  have  resources  in  my  influence,  which  do  not  exist,  to 
make  your  distress  the  heavier — I  have  no  means  of  avert- 
ing your  sister's  fate — She  must  die." 

**We  must  a'  die,  sir,"  said  Jeanie;  "it  is  our  common 
doom  for  our  father's  transgression;  but  we  shouldna 
hasten  ilk  other  out  o'  the  world,  that's  what  your  honor 
kens  better  than  me." 

'"My  good  young  woman,"  said  the  Duke  mildly,  "we 
are  all  apt  to  blame  the  law  under  which  we  immediately 
sutler;  but  you  seem  to  have  been  well  educated  in  your 
line  of  life,  and  you  must  know  that  it  is  alike  the  law  of 
God  and  man,  that  the  murderer  shall  surely  die." 

"But,  sir,  Effie — that  is,  my  poor  sister,  sir — canna  be 
proved  t-o  be  a  murderer;  and  if  she  be  not,  and  the  law 
take  her  life  notwithstanding,  wha  is  it  that  is  the 
murderer  then?" 

"I  am  no  lawyer,"  said  the  Duke;  "and  I  own  I  think 
the  statute  a  very  severe  one." 

"You  are  a  law-maker,  sir,  with  your  leave;  and,  there- 
fore, ye  have  power  over  the  law,"  answered  Jeanie. 

"Xot  in  my  individual  capacity,"  said  the  Duke; 
"though,  as  one  of  a  large  body,  I  have  a  voice  in  the 
legislation.  But  that  cannot  serv^e  you — nor  have  I  at 
present,  I  care  not  who  knows  it,  so  much  personal  influ- 
ence with  the  sovereign,  as  w^ould  entitle  me  to  ask  from 
him  the  most  insignificant  favor.  What  could  tempt  you, 
young  woman,  to  address  yourself  to  me?" 

"It  was  yoursell,  sir." 

"Myself?"  he  replied — "I  am  sure  you  have  never  seen 
me  before." 

"Xo,  sir;  but  a'  the  world  kens  that  the  Duke  of  Argylo 
is  his  country's  friend ;  and  that  ye  fight  for  the  right, 
and  speak  for  the  right,  and  that  there's  nane  like  yours 
in  our  present  Israel,  and  so  they  that  think  themselves 
wranged  draw  to  refuge  under  your  shadow ;  and  if  ye 
wunna  stir  to  save  the  blood  of  an  innocent  country- 
woman of  your  ain,  what  should  we  expect  frae  southrons 


y 


420  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

and  strangers?  And  maybe  I  had  another  reason  for 
troubling  your  honor." 

"And  what  is  that?"  asked  the  Duke. 

^T  hae  understood  from  m^^  father,  that  your  honor's 
house,  and  especially  your  gudesire  and  his  father,  laid 
down  their  lives  on  the  scaffold  in  the  persecuting  time. 
And  my  father  was  honored  to  gie  his  testimony  baith  in 
the  cage  and  in  the  pillory,  as  is  specially  mentioned  in 
the  books  of  Peter  Walker  the  packman,  that  your  honor, 
I  dare  say,  kens,  for  he  uses  maist  partly  the  westland  of 
Scotland.  And,  sir,  there's  ane  that  takes  concern  in  me, 
that  wished  me  to  gang  to  your  Grace's  presence,  for  his 
gudesire  had  done  your  gracious  gudesire  some  good  turn, 
as  ye  will  see  frae  these  papers." 

With  these  M'ords,  she  delivered  to  the  Duke  the  little 
parcel  which  she  had  received  from  Butler.  He  opened 
it,  and,  in  the  enveloi:)e,  read  with  some  surprise,  ''Muster- 
roll  of  the  men  serving  in  the  troop  of  that  godly  gentle- 
man. Captain  Salathiel  Bangtext. — Obadiah  Muggleton, 
Sin-Despise     Double-knock,      Stand-fast-in-faith      Gipps, 

Turn-to-the-right    Thwack-away What   the    deuce   is 

this?  A  list  of  Praise-God  Barebone's  Parliament,  I 
think,  or  of  old  Noll's  evangelical  army — that  last  fellow 
should  understand  his  wheelings  to  judge  by  his  name. — 
But  what  does  all  this  mean,  my  girl?" 

'Tt  was  the  other  paper,  sir,"  said  Jeanie,  somewhat 
abashed  at  the  mistake. 

"Oh,  this  is  my  unfortunate  grandfather's  hand  sure 
enough — 'To  all  who  may  have  friendship  for  the  house  of 
Argyle,  these  are  to  certify,  that  Benjamin  Butler,  of 
Monk's  regiment  of  dragoons,  having  been,  under  God, 
the  means  of  saving  my  life  from  four  English  troopers 
who  were  about  to  slay  me,  I,  having  no  other  present 
means  of  recompense  in  my  power,  do  give  him  this 
acknowledgment,  hoping  that  it  may  be  useful  to  him 
or  his  during  these  troublesome  times;  and  do  conjure  my 
friends,  tenants,  kinsmen,  and  whoever  will  do  aught  for 
me,  either  in  the  Highlands  or  Lowlands,  to  protect  and 
assist  the  said  Benjamin  Butler,  and  his  friends  or  family, 
on  their  lawful  occasions,  giving  thean'  such  countenance, 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  421 

maintenance,    and    supply,    as   may   correspond    with   the 
benefit  he  hath  bestowed  on  me;  witness  my  hand — 

'Lorne/ 

"This  is  a  strong  injunction — This  Benjamin  Butler 
was  your  grandfather,  I  suppose? — You  seem  too  young 
to  have  been  his  daughter." 

"He  was  nae  akin  to  me,  sir — he  was  grandfather  to 
ane — to  a  neighbor's  son — to  a  sincere  weel-wisher  of 
mine,  sir,"  dropping  her  little  courtesy  as  she  spoke. 

"Oh,  I  understand,"  said  the  Duke — "a  true-love  affair. 
He  was  the  grandsire  of  one  you  are  engaged  to?" 

"One  I  icas  engaged  to,  sir,"  said  Jeanie,  sighing;  "but 
this  unhappy  business  of  my  poor  sister " 

"What !"  said  the  Duke  hastily, — "he  has  not  deserted 
you  on  that  account,  has  he?" 

"Xo,  sir;  he  wad  be  the  last  to  leave  a  friend  in  diffi- 
culties," said  Jeanie;  "but  I  maun  think  for  him,  as  weel 
fls  for  mysell.  He  is  a  clergyman,  sir,  and  it  would  not 
beseem  him  to  marry  the  like  of  me,  wi'  this  disgrace  on 
my  kindred." 

"You  are  a  singular  young  woman."  said  the  Duke. 
"You  seem  to  me  to  think  of  every  one  before  yourself. 
And  have  you  really  come  up  frr»m  Edinburgh  on  foot, 
to  attempt  this  hopeless  solicitation  for  your  sister's  life?" 

"It  was  not  a'thegither  on  foot,  sir,"  answered  Jeanie; 
•for  I  sometimes  got  a  cast  in  a  wagon,  and  I  had  a 
liorse  from  Ferrybridge;  and  then  the  coach " 

"Well,  never  mind  all  that,"  interrupted  the  Duke. — 
"What  reason  have  you  fof  thinking  your  sister  innocent?" 

"Because  she  has  not  been  proved  guilty,  as  will  appear 
from  looking  at  these  papers." 

She  put  into  his  hand  a  note  of  the  evidence,  and 
fopies  of  her  sister's  declaration.  These  papers  Butler 
liiid  procured  after'  hor  departure,  and  Saddletroe  had 
lliem  forwarded  tr>  London,  to  !Nfrs.  Glass's  care;  so  that 
•  U'anie  found  the  documents,  so  necessary  for  supporting 
]\(-T  suit,  lying  in  readiness  at  hor  arrival. 

"Sit  down  in  that  chair,  my  good  girl,"  said  the  Duke, 
"until  I  glance  river  the  papers." 

She  obeyed,  and  watched  with  the  utmost  anxiety  each 
change  in  his  countenance  as  he  cast  his  eye  through  the 


422  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  j 

papers  briefly,  yet  with  attention,  and  making  memoranda  : 
as  he  went  along.  After  reading  them  hastily  over,  he  ^ 
looked  up,  and  seemed  about  to  speak,  yet  changed  his  \ 
purpose,  as  if  afraid  of  committing  himself  by  giving  too  i 
hasty  an  opinion,  and  read  over  again  several  passages  i 
which  he  had  marked  as  being  most  important.  All  this  j 
he  did  in  shorter  time  than  can  be  supposed  by  men  of  ■ 
ordinary  talents;  for  his  mind  was  of  that  acute  and  ; 
penetrating  character  which  discovers,  with  the  glance  of 
intuition,  what  facts  bear  on  the  particular  point  that  . 
chances  to  be  subjected  to  consideration.  At  length  he  \ 
rose,  after  a  few  minutes'  deep  reflection. — "Young  j 
woman,"  said  he,  "your  sister's  case  must  certainly  be  i 
termed  a  hard  one."  , 

"God  bless  you,  sir,  for  that  very  word!"  said  Jeanie.    ! 

"It  seems  contrary  to  the  genius  of  British  law,"  con- 
tinued the  Duke,  "to  take  that  for  granted  which  is  not   \ 
proved,  or  to  punish  with  death  for  a  crime,  which,  for   i 
aught  the  prosecutor  has  been  able  to  show,  may  not  have   j 
been  committed  at  all."  ' 

"God  bless  you,  sir!"  again  said  Jeanie,  who  had  risen  j 
from  her  seat,  and,  with  clasped  hands,  eyes  glittering  j 
through  tears,  and  features  which  trembled  with  anxiety,  \ 
drank  in  every  word  which  the  Duke  uttered.  I 

"But,  alas!  my  poor  girl,"  he  continued,  "what  good  ' 
will  my  opinion  do  you,  unless  I  could  impress  it  upon 
those  in  whose  hands  your  sister's  life  is  placed  by  the  ; 
law?  Besides,  I  am  no  lawyer;  and  I  must  speak  with  ■ 
some  of  our  Scottish  gentlernen  of  the  gown  about  the  i 
matter."  i 

"Oh  but,  sir,  what  seems  reasonable  to  your  honor,  will  j 
certainly  be  the  same  to  them,"  answered  Jeanie.  i 

"I  do  not  know  that,"  replied  the  Duke;  "ilka  man  \ 
buckles  his  belt  his  ain  gate — you  know  our  old  Scotch  j 
proverb? — But  you  shall  not  have  placed  this  reliance  on  ' 
me  altogether  in  vain.  Leave  these  papers  with  me,  and  i 
you  shall  hear  from  me  to-morrow  or  next  day.  Take  care  i 
to  be  at  home  at  Mrs.  Glass's,  and  ready  to  come  to  me  | 
at  a  moment's  warning.  It  will  be  unnecessary  for  you  | 
to  give  Mrs.  Glass  the  trouble  to  attend  you; — and,  by-  1 
the-bye,  you  will  please  to  be  dressed  just  as  you  are  at  ; 
present." 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  423 

"I  wad  hae  putten  on  a  cap,  sir,"  said  Jeanie,  "but  your 
honor  kens  it  isna  the  fashion  of  my  country  for  single 
women;  and  I  judged  that  being  sae  mony  hundred  miles 
frae  hame,  your  Grace's  heart  wad  warm  to  the  tartan," 
looking  at  the  corner  of  her  plaid. 

'•You  judged  quite  right,''  said  the  Duke.  "I  know  the 
full  value  of  the  snood;  and  MacCallummore's  heart  will 
be  as  cold  as  death  can  make  it,  when  it  does  not  warm  to 
the  tartan.  Now,  go  away,  and  don't  be  out  of  the  way 
when  I  send." 

Jeanie  replied, — ''There  is  little  fear  of  that,  sir,  for  I 
have  little  heart  to  go  to  see  sights  amang  this  wilderness 
of  black  houses.  But  if  I  might  say  to  your  gracious 
honor,  that  if  ye  ever  condescend  to  speak  to  ony  ane  that 
is  of  greater  degree  than  yoursell,  though  maybe  it  is  nae 
civil  in  me  to  say  sae,  just  if  you  would  think  there  can 
be  nae  sic  odds  between  you  and  them,  as  between  poor 
Jeanie  Deans  from  Saint  Leonard's  and  the  Duke  of 
Argyle;  and  so  dinna  be  chappit  back  or  cast  down  wi' 
the  first  rough  answer." 

'T  am  not  apt,"  said  the  Duke,  laughing,  "to  mind 
rough  answers  much — Do  not  you  hope  too  much  from 
what  I  have  promised.  I  will  do  my  best,  but  God  has 
the  hearts  of  kings  in  His  own  hand." 

Jeanie  courtesied  reverently  and  withdrew,  attended  by 
the  Duke's  gentleman,  to  her  hackney-coach,  with  a  re- 
spect which  her  appearance  did  not  demand,  but  which 
was  perhaps  paid  to  the  length  of  the  interview  with 
which  his  master  had  honored  her. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

Ascend, 

While   radiant   summer   opens   all   its  pride, 
Thy  hill,  delightful  Shenel     Here  let  us  sweep, 
The  boundless  landscape. 

Thomson. 

From  her  kind  and  oflficious,  but  somewhat  gossiping 
friend,  Mrs.  Glass,  Jeanie  underwent  a  very  close  cate- 
chism on  their  road  to  the  Strand,  where  the  Thistle  of 


424  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

the  good  lady  flourished  in  full  glory,  and,  with  its  legend 
of  Nemo  me  impune,  distinguished  a  shop  then  well 
known  to  all  Scottish  folk  of  high  and  low  degree. 

"And  were  you  sure  aye  to  say  your  Grace  to  him?" 
said  the  good  old  lady;  "for  ane  should  make  a  distinction 
between  MacCallummore  and  the  bits  o'  southern  bodies 
that  they  ca'  lords  here — there  are  as  mony  o'  them, 
Jeanie,  as  would  gar  ane  think  they  maun  cost  but  little 
fash  in  the  making — some  of  them  I  wadna  trust  wi'  six 
pennies-worth  of  black  rappee — some  of  them  I  wadna 
gie  mysell  the  trouble  to  put  up  a  hapnyworth  in  brown 
paper  for, — But  I  hope  you  showed  your  breeding  to  the 
Duke  of  Argyle,  for  what  sort  of  folk  would  he  think 
your  friends  in  London,  if  you  had  been  lording  him,  and 
him  a  Duke?" 

"He  didna  seem  muckle  to  mind,"  said  Jeanie;  "he 
kend  that  I  was  landward  bred." 

"Weel,  weel,"  answered  the  good  lady.  "His  Grace  kens 
me  weel;  so  I  am  the  less  anxious  about  it.  I  never  fill 
his  snuff-box  but  he  says,  ^How  d'ye  do,  good  Mrs.  Glass? 
— How  are  all  our  friends  in  the  North?'  or  it  may  be — 
'Have  ye  heard  from  the  North  lately  V  And  you  may  be 
sure,  I  make  my  best  courtesy,  and  answer,  'My  Lord 
Duke,  I  hope  your  Grace's  noble  Duchess,  and  your  Grace's 
young  ladies,  are  well;  and  I  hope  the  snuff  continues  to 
give  your  Grace  satisfaction.'  And  then  ye  will  see  the 
people  in  the  shop  begin  to  look  about  them;  and  if  there's 
a  Scotchman,  as  there  may  be  three  or  half-a-dozen,  aff 
go  the  hats,  and  mony  a  look  after  him,  and  'there  goes 
the  Prince  of  Scotland,  God  bless  him !'  But  ye  have  not 
told  me  yet  the  very  words  he  said  t'ye." 

Jeanie  had  no  intention  to  be  quite  so  communicative. 
She  had,  as  the  reader  may  have  observed,  some  of  the 
caution  and  shrewdness,  as  well  as  of  the  simplicity,  of 
her  country.  She  answered  generally,  that  the  Duke  had 
received  her  very  compassionately,  and  had  promised  to 
interest  himself  in  her  sister's  affair,  and  to  let  her  hear 
from  him  in  the  course  of  the  next  day,  or  the  day  after. 
She  did  not  choose  to  make  any  mention  of  his  having 
desired  her  to  "be  in  readiness  to  attend  him,  far  less  of 
his  hint,  that  she  should  not  bring  her  landlady.  So  that 
honest  Mrs.  Glass  was  obliged  to  remain  satisfied  with  the 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  425 

penernl  intellicrence  above  mentioned,  after  having  done 
all  >he  could  to  extract  more. 

It  may  easily  be  conceived,  that,  on  the  next  day,  Jeanie 
declined  all  invitations  and  inducements,  whether  of  exer- 
cise or  curiosity,  to  walk  abroad,  and  continued  to  inhale 
the  close,  and  somewhat  professional  atmosphere  of  Mrs. 
Glass's  small  parlor.  The  latter*  flavor  it  owed  to  a  cer- 
tain cupboard,  containing,  amoncr  other  artioles,  a  few 
canisters  of  real  Havannah,  which,  whether  from  respect 
to  the  manufacture,  or  out  of  a  reverent  fear  of  the  ex- 
cisemen, Mrs.  Glass  did  not  care  to  trust  in  the  open  shop 
below,  and  which  communicated  to  the  room  a  scent,  that, 
however  frnjirant  to  the  nostrils  of  the  connoisseur,  was 
not  very  agrreeable  to  those  of  Jeanie. 

"Dear  sirs,"  she  said  to  herself,  "I  wonder  how  my 
cousin's  silk  manty.  and  her  srowd  watch,  or  onythinsr  in 
the  world,  can  be  worth  sitting:  sneezing  all  her  life  in  this 
little  stifling  room,  and  might  walk  on  green  braes  if  she 
liked." 

Mrs.  Glass  was  equally  surprised  at  her  cousin's  reluc- 
tance to  stir  abroad,  and  her  indifference  to  the  fine  sights 
of  London.  "It  would  always  help  to  pass  away  the  time," 
(Phe  said,  "to  have  something  to  look  at,  though  ane  wa's 
in  distress."     But  Jeanie  was  unpersuadable. 

The  day  after  her  interview  with  the  Duke  was  spent 
in  that  "hope  delayed,  which  maketh  the  heart  sick." 
Minutes  glided  after  minutes — hours  fled  after  hours — 
it  became  too  late  to  have  any  reasonable  expectation  of 
hearing  from  the  Duke  that  day;  yet  the  hope  which  she 
disowned,  she  could  not  altogether  relinquish,  and  her 
heart  throbbed,  and  her  ears  tingled,  with  every  casual 
sound  in  the  shop  below.  It  was  in  vain.  The  day  wore 
away  in  the  anxiety  of  protracted  and  fruitless  expectation. 

The  next  morning  commenced  in  the  same  manner.  But 
before  noon,  a  well-dressed  gentleman  entered  Mrs. 
Glass's  shop,  and  requested  to  see  a  young  woman  from 
Scotland. 

"That  will  be  my  cousin,  Jeanie  Deans,  Mr.  Archibald," 
said  Mrs.  Glass,  with  a  courtesj'^  of  recognizance.  "Have 
you  any  message  for  her  from  his  Grace  the  Duke  of 
Argyle,  Mr.  Archibald?  I  will  carry  it  to  her  in  a 
moment." 


426  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

"I  believe  I  must  give  her  the  trouble  of  stepping  down, 
Mrs.  Glass." 

"Jeanie — Jeanie  Deans!"  said  Mrs.  Glass,  screaming 
at  the  bottom  of  the  little  staircase,  which  ascended  from 
the  corner  of  the  shop  to  the  higher  regions.  "Jeanie — 
Jeanie  Deans,  I  say!  come  downstairs  instantly;  here  is 
the  Duke  of  Argj'le's  groom  of  the  chambers  desires  to  see 
you  directly."  This  was  announced  in  a  voice  so  loud,  as 
to  make  all  who  chanced  to  be  within  hearing  aware  of 
the  important  communication. 

It  may  easily  be  supposed,  that  Jeanie  did  not  tarry 
long  in  adjusting  herself  to  attend  the  summons,  yet  her 
feet  almost  failed  her  as  she  came  downstairs. 

"T  must  ask  the  favor  of  your  company  a  little  way," 
said   Archibald,   with   civility. 

"I  am  quite  ready,  sir,"  said  Jeanie. 
"Is  my  cousin  going  out,  Mr.  Archibald?  then  I  will  hae 
to  go  wi'  her,  no  doubt. — James  Rasper — Look  to  the 
shop,  James. — Mr.  Archibald,"  pushing  a  jar  toward  him, 
"you  take  his  Grace's  mixture,  I  think.  Please  to  fill 
your  box,  for  old  acquaintance'  sake,  while  I  get  on  my 
things." 

Mr.  Archibald  transposed  a  modest  parcel  of  snuff  from 
the  jar  to  his  own  mull,  but  said  he  was  obliged  to  de- 
cline the  pleasure  of  Mrs.  Glass's  company,  as  his  message 
was  particularly  to  the  young  person. 

"Particularly  to  the  young  person?"  said  Mrs.  Glass; 
"is  not  that  uncommon,  Mr.  Archibald?  But  his  Grace 
is  the  best  judge;  and  you  are  a  steady  person,  Mr. 
Archibald.  It  is  not  every  one  that  comes  from  a  great 
man's  house  I  would  trust  my  cousin  with. — But,  Jeanie, 
you  must  not  go  through  the  streets  with  Mr.  Archibald 
with  your  tartan  what  d'ye  call  it  there  upon  your 
shoulders,  as  if  you  had  come  up  with  a  drove  of  Highland 
cattle.  Wait  till  I  bring  down  my  silk  cloak.  Why,  we'll 
have  the  mob  after  you!" 

"I  have  a  hackney-coach  in  waiting,  madam,"  said  Mr. 
Archibald,  interrupting  the  officious  old  lady,  from  whom 
Jeanie  might  otherwise  have  found  it  difficult  to  escape, 
"and,  I  believe,  I  must  not  allow  her  time  for  any  change 
of  dress." 

So  saying,  he  hurried  Jeanie  into  the  coach,  while  she 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  427 

internally  praised  and  wondered  at  the  easy  manner  in 
which  he  shifted  off  Mrs.  Glass's  officious  offers  and  in- 
quiries, without  mentioning  his  master's  orders,  or  going 
into  any  explanation  whatever. 

On  entering  the  coach,  Mr.  Archibald  seated  himself  in 
the  front  seat,  opposite  to  our  heroine,  and  they  drove  on 
in  silence.  After  they  had  proceeded  nearly  half-an-hour, 
without  a  word  on  either  side,  it  occurred  to  Jeanie,  that 
the  distance  and  time  did  not  correspond  with  that  which 
had  been  occupied  by  her  journey  on  the  former  occasion, 
to  and  from  the  residence  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle.  At 
length  she  could  not  help  asking  her  taciturn  companion, 
''Whilk   way  they  were   going?" 

'"My  Lord  Duke  will  inform  you  himself,  madam," 
answered  Archibald,  with  the  same  solemn  "courtesy  which 
marked  his  whole  demeanor.  Almost  as  he  spoke,  the 
hackney-coach  drew  up,  and  the  coachman  dismounted 
and  opened  the  door.  Archibald  got  out,  and  assisted 
Jeanie  to  get  down.  She  found  herself  in  a  large  turn- 
pike road,  without  the  bounds  of  London,  upon  the  other 
side  of  which  road  was  drawn  up  a  plain  chariot  and 
four  horses,  the  panels  without  arms,  and  the  servants 
without  liveries. 

"'You  have  been  punctual,  I  see,  Jeanie,"  said  the  Duke 
of  Argyle,  as  Archibald  opened  the  carriage  door.  "You 
must  be  my  companion  for  the  rest  of  the  way.  Archibald 
will  remain  here  with  the  hackney-coach  till  your  return." 

Ere  Jeanie  could  make  answer,  she  found  herself,  to 
her  no  small  astonishment,  seated  by  the  side  of  a  duke, 
in  a  carriage  which  rolled  forvvard  at  a  rapid  yet  smooth 
rate,  very  different  in  both  particulars  from  the  lumber- 
ing, jolting  vehicle  which  she  had  just  left;  and  which, 
lumbering  and  jolting  as  it  was,  conveyed  to  one  who  had 
seldom  been  in  a  coach  before,  a  certain  feeling  of  dignity 
and   importance. 

"Young  woman,"  said  the  Duke,  "after  thinking  as  at- 
tentively on  your  sister's  ease  as  is  in  my  power,  I  con- 
tinue to  be  impressed  with  the  belief  that  great  injustice 
may  be  done  by  the  execution  of  her  sentence.  So  are  one 
or  two  liberal  and  int<?lligent  lawyers  of  both  countries 
whom  I  have  spoken  with. — Nay,  pray  hear  me  out  before 
you  thank  me. — I  have  already  told  you  my  personal  con- 


428  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN' 

viction  is  of  little  consequence,  unless  I  could  impress 
the  same  upon  others.  Now  I  have  done  for  you,  what  I 
would  certainly  not  have  done  to  serve  any  purpose  of 
my  own — I  have  asked  an  audience  of  a  lady  whose 
interest  with  the  king  is  deservedly  very  high.  It  has 
been  allowed  me,  and  I  am  desirous  that  you  should  see 
her  and  speak  for  yourself.  You  have  no  occasion  to  be 
abashed;  tell  your  story  simply  as  you  did  to  me." 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  your  Grace,"  said  Jeanie,  re- 
membering Mrs.  Glass's  charge;  "and  I  am  sure  since  I 
have  had  the  courage  to  speak  to  your  Grace,  in  poor 
Effie's  cause,  I  have  less  reason  to  be  shame-faced  in  speak- 
ing to  a  leddy.  But,  sir,  I  would  like  to  ken  what  to  ca' 
her,  whether  your  grace,  or  your  honor,  or  your  leddy- 
ship,  as  we  say  to  lairds  and  leddies  in  Scotland,  and  I 
will  take  care  to  mind  it;  for  I  ken  leddies  are  full  mair 
particular  than  gentlemen  about  their  titles  of  honor." 

''You  have  no  occasion  to  call  her  anything  but  Madam. 
Just  say  what  you  think  is  likely  to  make  the  best  im- 
pression— look  at  me  from  time  to  time — if  I  put  my  hand 
to  my  cravat  so"  (showing  her  the  motion),  "you  will 
stop;  but  I  shall  only  do  this  when  you  say  anything  that 
is  not  likely  to  please." 

"But,  sir,  your  Grace,"  said  Jeanie,  "if  it  wasna  ower 
muckle  trouble,  wad  it  no  be  better  to  tell  me  what  I 
should  say,  and  I  could  get  it  by  heart?" 

"No,  Jeanie,  that  would  not  have  the  same  effect — that 
would  be  like  reading  a  secmon,  you  know,  which  we 
good  Presbyterians  think  has  less  unction  than  when 
spoken  without  book,"  replied  the  Duke.  "Just  speak  as 
plainly  and  boldly  to  this  lady,  as  you  did  to  me  the 
day  before  yesterday;  and  if  you  can  gain  her  consent, 
I'll  wad  ye  a  plack,  as  we  say  in  the  north,  that  you  get 
the  pardon  from  the  king." 

As  he  spoke  he  took  a  pamphlet  from  his  pocket,  and 
began  to  read.  Jeanie  had  good  sense  and  tact,  which 
constitute  betwixt  them  that  which  is  called  natural  good 
breeding.  She  interpreted  the  Duke's  manoeuvre  as  a  hint 
that  she  was  to  ask  no  more  questions,  and  she  remained 
silent  accordingly. 

The  carriage  rolled  rapidly  onward  through  fertile 
meadows,  ornamented  with  splendid  old  oaks,  and  catch- 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  429 

ing  occasionally  a  glance  of  the  majestic  mirror  of  a  broad 
and  placid  river.  After  passinsf  through  a  pleasant  vil- 
lage, the  equipage  stopped  on  a  commanding  eminence, 
where  the  beauty  of  English  landscape  was  displayed  in 
its  utmost  luxuriance.  Here  the  Duke  alighted,  and 
desired  Jeanie  to  follow  him.  They  paused  for  a  moment 
on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  to  gaze  on  the  unrivalled  landscape 
which  it  presented.  A  huge  sea  of  verdure,  with  crossing 
and  intersecting  promontories  of  massive  and  tufted 
groves,  was  tenanted  by  numberless  flocks  and  herds, 
which  seemed  to  wander  unrestrained  and  unbounded 
through  the  rich  pastures.  The  Thames,  here  turreted 
with  villas,  and  there  garlanded  with  forests,  moved  on 
slowly  and  placidly,  like  the  mighty  monarch  of  the  scene, 
to  whom  all  its  other  beauties  were  but  accessories,  and 
bore  on  his  bosom  a  hundred  barques  and  skiffs,  whose 
white  sails  and  gaily  fluttering  pennons  gave  life  to  the 
whole. 

The  Duke  of  x\rgyle  was,  of  course,  familiar  with  this 
scene;  but  to  a  man  of  taste  it  must  be  always  new.  Yet, 
as  he  paused  and  looked  on  this  inimitable  landscape,  with 
the  feeling  of  delight  which  it  must  give  to  the  bosom  of 
everj'  admirer  of  nature,  his  thoughts  naturally  reverted 
to  his  own  more  grand,  and  scarce  less  beautiful,  domains 
of  Inverarj-. — "This  is  a  fine  scene,"  he  said  to  his  com- 
panion, curious,  perhaps,  to  draw  out  her  sentiments; 
'*we  have  nothing  like  it  in   Scotland." 

"It's  braw  rich  feeding  for  the  cows,  and  they  have  a 
fine  breed  o'  cattle  here,"  replied  Jeanie;  '*but  I  like  just 
as  weel  to  look  at  the  craigs  of  Arthur's  Seat,  and  the 
sea  coming  in  ayont  them,  as  at  a'  thae  muckle  trees." 

The  Duke  sniih'd  at  a  reply  equally  professional  and 
national,  and  made  a  signal  for  the  carriage  to  remain 
where  it  was.  Then  ado{)ting  an  unfrcijucntcd  footpath, 
he  conducted  Jeanie,  throuLrli  several  complicated,  mazes, 
to  a  postern-door  in  a  high  brick  wall.  It  was  shut;  but 
as  the  Duke  tapped  slightly  at  it,  a  person  in  waiting 
within,  after  reconnoitring  through  a  small  iron  gate 
contrived  for  the  puri)os<\  unlocked  the  door,  and  admitted 
t)'  .11.  They  entered,  and  it  was  imme<liately  closed  and 
fastened  behind  them.  This  was  all  done  quickly,  the 
door  so  instantly  closing,  and  the  person   who  opened  it 


430  THE   HEAKT  •  OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

so  suddenly  disappearing,  that  Jeanie  could  not  even  catch 
a  glimpse  of  his  exterior. 

They  found  themselves  at  the  extremity  of  a  deep  and 
narrow  alley,  carpeted  with  the  most  verdant  and  close- 
shaven  turf,  which  felt  like  velvet  under  their  feet,  and 
screened  from  the  sun  by  the  branches  of  the  lofty  elms 
which  united  over  the  path,  and  caused  it  to  resemble, 
in  the  solemn  obscurity  of  the  light  which  they  ad- 
mitted, as  well  as  from  the  range  of  columnar  stems,  and 
intricate  union  of  their  arched  branches,  one  of  the 
narrow  side  aisles   in  an  ancient  Gothic  cathedral. 


CHAPTEK    XXXVII 


-I  beseech  jftou — 


These  tears  beseech  you,  and  these  chaste  hands  woo  you, 
That   never   yet   were  heaved   but   to   things  holy — 
Things  like  yourself — You  are  a  God  above  us;  ■ 
Be  as  a  God,  then,  full  of  saving  mercy! 

The  Bloody  Brother. 

Encouraged  as  she  was  by  the  courteous  manners  of  her 
noble  countryman,  it  was  not  without  a  feeling  of  some- 
thing like  terror  that  Jeanie  felt  herself  in  a  place  ap- 
parently so  lonely,  with  a  man  of  such  high  rank.  That 
she  should  have  been  permitted  to  wait  on  the  Duke  in 
his  own  house,  and  have  been  there  received  to  a  private 
interview,  was  in  itself  an  uncommon  and  distinguished 
event  in  the  annals  of  a  life  so  simple  as  hers;  but  to  find 
herself  his  travelling  companion  in  a  journey,  and  then 
suddenly  to  be  left  alone  with  him  in  so  secluded  a  situa- 
tion, had  s<^':^.ething  in  it  of  awful  mystery.  A  romantic 
heroine  mi^i.t  have  suspected  and  dreaded  the  power  of 
her  own  charms ;  but  Jeanie  was  too  wise  to  let  such  a  silly 
thought  intrude  on  her  mind.  Still,  however,  she  had 
a  most  eager  desire  to  know  where  she  now  was,  and  to 
whom  she'  was  to  be  presented. 

She  remarked  that  the  Duke's  dress,  though  still  such 
as  indicated  rank  and  fashion  (for  it  was  not  the  custom 
of  men  of  quality  at  that  time  to  dress  themselves  like 
their  own  coachmen  or  grooms),  was  nevertheless  plainer 
than  that  in  which  she  had  seen  him  upon  a  former  occa- 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-UJTIUAN  431 

sion,  and  was  divested,  in  particular,  of  all  those  badges 
of  external  decoration  which  intimated  superior  conse- 
quence. In  short,  he  was  attired  as  plainly  as  any  gentle- 
man o»f  fashion  could  appear  in  the  streets  of  London  in  a 
morning;  and  this  circumstance  helped  to  shake  an 
opinion  which  Jeanie  began  to  entertain,  that,  perhaps, 
he  intended  she  should  plead  her  cause  in  the  presence  of 
royalty  itself.  "But,  surely,"  said  she  to  herself,  "he  wad 
hae  putten  on  his  braw  star  and  garter,  an  he  had  .thought 
o'  coming  before  the  face  of  Majesty — and  after  a',  this 
is  mair  like  a  gentleman's  policy  than  a  royal  palace." 

There  was  some  sense  in  Jeanie's  reasoning;  yet  she 
was  not  sufficiently  mistress  either  of  the  circumstances 
of   etiquette,    or   the    particular    relations    which    existed 
betwixt  the  government  and  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  to  form 
an  accurate  judgment.     The  Duke,  as  we  have  said,  was 
at  this  time  in  open  opposition  to  the  administration  of 
Sir   Robert   Walpole,    and   was   understood   to   be   out   of         , 
favor  with  the  royal  family,  to  whom  he  had  rendered         - 
such  important  services.     But  it  was  a  maxim  of  Queen 
Caroline,  to  bear  herself  toward  her  political  friends  with         i 
such  caution,   as   if  there  was  a  possibility  of  their  one 
day   being  her   enemies,    and   toward   political   opponents         '< 
with  the  same  degree  of  circumspection,  as  if  they  might 
again  become  friendly  to  her  measures.     Since  Margaret  : 

of  Anjou,  no  queen-fonsort  had  exercised  such  weight  in  ! 
the  political  affairs  of  P^ngland,  and  the  personal  address  ! 
which  she  displayed  on  many  occasions,  had  no  small  \ 
share  in  reclaiming  from  their  political  heresy  many  of 
those  determined  Tories,  who,  after  the  reign  of  the  I 
Stuarts  had  been  extinguished  in  the  person  of  Queen  I 
Anne,  were  disposed  rather  to  transfer  tht  allegiance  i 
to  her  brother  the  Chevalier  de  St.  George,  than  to  ac- 
quiesce in  the  settlement  of  the  erown  <tn  the  Hanover  j 
family.  Her  husband,  whose  most  shining  quality  was  J 
courage  in  the  Held  of  battle,  and  who  endured  the  office  / 
of  King  of  England,  without  ever  being  able  to  acquire  \  \ 
English  habits,  or  any  familiarity  with  English  disposi-  • 
tions,  found  the  utmost  assistance  from  the  address  of  his  j 
I)artner;  and  while  he  jealously  affected  to  do  everything  ' 
according  to  his  own  will  and  pleasure,  was  in  secret  j 
prudent  enough  to  take  and  follow  the  advice  of  his  more         I 


432  THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

adroit  consort.  He  entrusted  to  her  the  delicate  office  of 
determining  the  various  degrees  of  favor  necessary  to 
attach  the  wavering,  or  to  confirm  such  as  were  already 
friendly,  or  to  regain  those  whose  good-will  had  been  lost. 

With  all  the  winning  address  of  an  elegant,  and,  ac- 
cording to  the  times,  an  accomplished  woman.  Queen 
vy  Caroline  possessed  the  masculine  soul  of  the  other  sex. 
She  was  pjroud  by  nature,  and  even  her  policy  could  not 
always  .temper  her  expressions  of  displeasure,  although 
few  were  more  ready  at  repairing  any  false  step  of  this 
kind,  when-  her  prudence  came  up  to  the  aid  of  her  pas- 
sions. She  loved  the  real  possession  of  power,  rather 
than  the  show  of  it,  and  whatever  she  did  herself  that  was 
either  wise  or  popular,  she  always  desired  that  the  king 
should  have  the  full  credit  as  well  as  the  advantage  of  the 
measure,  conscious  that,  by  adding  to  his  respectability, 
she  was  most  likely  to  maintain  her  own.  And  so  de- 
sirous was  she  to  comply  with  all  his  tastes,  that,  when 
threatened  with  the  gout,  she  had  repeatedly  had  recourse 
to  checking  the  fit,  by  the  .use  of  the  cold  bath,  thereby 
^  endangering  her  life,  that  she  might  be  able  to  attend  the 
king  in  his  walks. 

It  was  a  very  consistent  part  of  Queen  Caroline's  char- 
acter, to  keep  up  many  private  correspondences  with  those 
to  whom  in  public  she  seemed  unfavorable,  or  who,  for 
various  reasons,  stood  ill  with  the  court.  By  this  means, 
she  kept  in  her  hands  the  thread  of  many  a  political 
intrigue,  and,  without  pledging  herself  to  anything,  could 
often  prevent  discontent  from  becoming  hatred,  and  op- 
position from  exaggerating  itself  into  rebellion.  If  by 
any  accident  her  correspondence  with  such  persons  chanced 
to  be  observed  or  discovered,  which  she  took  all  possible 
pains  to  prevent,  it  was  represented  as  a  mere  intercourse 
of  society,  having  no  reference  to  politics;  an  answer 
with  which  even  the  prime  minister,  Sir  Robert  Walpole, 
was  compelled  to  remain  satisfied,  when  he  discovered 
that  the  Queen  had  given  a  private  audience  to  Pulteney, 
afterward  Earl  of  Bath,  his  most  formidable  and  most  in- 
veterate enemy. 

In  thus  maintaining  occasional  intercourse  with  several 
persons  who  seemed  most  alienated  from  the  crown,  it 
may  readily  be  supposed,  that  Queen  Caroline  had  taken 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  433 

care  not  to  break  entirely  with  tlie  Duke  of  Arpyle.  His 
higrh  hirth,  his  great  talents,  the  estimation  in  which  he 
was  held  in  his  own  country,  the  great  services  which  he 
had  rendered  the  house  of  Brunswick  in  1715,  placed  him 
high  in  that  rank  of  persons  who  were  not  to  be  rashly 
neglected.  He  had,  almost  by  his  single  and  unassisted 
talents,  stopped  the  irruption  of  the  banded  force  of  all 
the  Highland  chiefs;  there  was  little  doubt,  that,  with 
the  slightest  encouragement,  he  could  put  them  all  in 
motion,  and  renew  the  civil  war;  and  it  was  well  known 
that  the  most  Hattering  overtures  had  been  transmitted  to 
the  Duke  from  the  court  of  St.  Germains.  The  character 
and  temper  of  Scotland  were  still  little  known,  and  it  was 
considered  as  a  volcano,  which  might,  indeed,  slumber  for 
a  series  of  years  but  was  still  liable,  at  a  moment  the  >/ 
least  expected,  to  break  out  into  a  w^asteful  eruption.  It 
was,  therefore,  of  the  highest  importance  to  retain  some 
hold  over  so  important  a  personage  as  the  Duke  of  Argyle, 
and  Caroline  preserved  the  power  of  doing  so  by  means  of 
a  lady,  with  whom,  as  wife  of  George  II.,  she  might 
have  been  supposed  to  be  on  less  intimate  terms. 

It  was  not  the  least  instance  of  the  Queens  address, 
that  she  had  contrived  that  one  of  her  principal  attend- 
ants. Lady  Suffolk,  should  unite  in  her  own  person  the  two 
apparently  inconsistent  characters,  of  her  husband's 
mistress,  and  her  own  very  obsequious  and  complaisant 
contidant.  By  this  dexterous  management  the  Queen 
secured  her  power  against  the  danger  which  might  most 
have  threatened  it — the  thwarting  intiuence  of  an  ambi- 
tious rival;  and  if  she  submitted  to  the  mortification  of 
being  obliged  to  connive  at  her  husband's  infidelity,  she 
was  at  least  guarded  against  what  she  might  think  its 
most  dangerous  effects,  and  was  besides  at  liberty,  now 
and  then,  to  bestow  a  few  civil  insults  upon  "her  good 
Howard,"  whom,  however,  in  general,  she  treated  with 
great  decorum.*  Lady  Suffolk  lay  under  strong  obliga- 
tions to  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  for  reasons  which  may  bo 
collected  from  Hf)race  Walpole's  Reminiscences  of  that 
reign,  and  through  her  means  the  Duke  had  some  occa- 
sional correspondence  with  Queen  Caroline,  much  inter- 


'  See    Horace    Walpole's   Reminiscences. 


434  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

rupted,  however,  since  the  part  he  had  taken  in  the  debate 
concerning  the  Porteous  mob,  an  affair  which  the  Queen, 
though  somewhat  unreasonably,  was  disposed  to  resent, 
rather  as  an  intended  and  premeditated  insolence  to  her 
own  person  and  authority,  than  as  a  sudden  ebullition 
of  popular  vengeance.  Still,  however,  the  communication 
remained  open  betwixt  them,  though  it  had  been  of  late 
disused  on  both  sides.  These  remarks  will  be  found  neces- 
sary to  understand  the  scene  which  is  about  to  be  pre- 
sented to  the  reader. 

From  the  narrow  alley  which  they  had  traversed,  the 
Duke  turned  into  one  of  the  same  character,  but  broader 
and  still  longer.  Here,  for  the  first  time  since  they  had 
entered  these  gardens,  Jeanie  saw  persons  approaching 
them. 

They  were  two  ladies;  one  of  whom  walked  a  little 
behind  the  other,  yet  not  so  much  as  to  prevent  her  from 
hearing  and  replying  to  whatever  observation  was  ad- 
dressed to  her  by  the  lady  who  walked  foremost,  and  that 
without  her  having  the  trouble  to  turn  her  person.  As 
they  advanced  very  slowly,  Jeanie  had  time  to  study  their 
features  and  appearance.  The  Duke  also  slackened  his 
pace,  as  if  to  give  her  time  to  collect  herself,  and  re- 
peatedly desired  her  not  to  be  afraid.  The  lady  who 
seemed  the  principal  person  had  remarkably  good  features, 
though  somewhat  injured  by  the  small-pox,  that  venomous 
scourge,  which  each  village  Esculapius  (thanks  to  Jenner) 
can  now  tame  as  easily  as  their  tutelary  deity  subdued 
the  Python.  The  lady's  eyes  were  brilliant,  her  teeth 
good,  and  her  countenance  formed  to  express  at  will  either 
majesty  or  courtesy.  Her  form,  though  rather  ernhon- 
'point,  was  nevertheless  graceful;  and  the  elasticity  and 
firmness  of  her  step  gave  no  room  to  suspect,  what  was 
actually  the  case,  that  she  suffered  occasionally  from  a 
disorder  the  most  unfavorable  to  pedestrian  exercise.  Her 
dress  was  rather  rich  than  gay,  and  her  manner  command- 
ing and  noble. 

Her  companion  was  of  lower  stature,  with  light -brown 
hair  and  expressive  blue  eyes.  Her  features,  without 
being  absolutely  regular,  were  perhaps  more  pleasing  than 
if  they  had  been  critically  handsome.  A  melancholy,  or 
at  least  a  pensive  expression,  for  which  her  lot  gave  too 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  435 

much  cause,  predominated  when  she  was  silent,  but  gave 
way  to  a  pleasing  and  good-humored  smile  when  she 
spoke  to  anyoncv 

When  they  were  within  twelve  or  fifteen  yards  of 
these  ladies,  the  Duke  made  a  sign  that  Jeanie  should 
stand  still,  and  stepping  forward  himself,  with  the  grace 
which  was  natural  to  him,  made  a  profound  obeisance, 
which  was  formally,  yet  in  a  dignified  manner,  returned 
by  the  personage  whom  he  approached. 

'T  hope,"  she  said,  with  an  affable  and  condescending 
smile,  "that  I  see  so  great  a  stranger  at  court,  as  thff  Duke 
of  Argyle  has  been  of  late,  in  as  good  health  as  his  friends 
there  and  elsewhere  could  wish  him  to  enjoy." 

The  Duke  replied,  ''That  he  had  been  perfectly  well"; 
and  added,  "that  the  necessity  of  attending  to  the  public 
business  before  the  House,  as  well  as  the  time  occupied 
by  a  late  journey  to  Scotland,  had  rendered  him  less 
assiduous  in  paying  his  duty  at  the  levee  and  drawing- 
room  than  he  could  have  desired." 

"When  your  Grace  can  find  time  for  a  duty  so  frivo- 
lous," replied  the  Queen,  "you  are  aware  of  your  title  to 
be  well  received.  I  hope  my  readiness  to  comply  with  the 
wish  which  you  expressed  yesterday  to  Lady  Suffolk,  is 
a  sufficient  proof  that  one  of  the  royal  family,  at  least,  has 
not  forgotten  ancient  and  important  services,  in  resenting 
something  which  resembles  recent  neglect."  This  was 
said  apparently  with  great  good-humor,  and  in  a  tone 
which  expressed  a  desire  of  conciliation. 

The  Duke  replied,  "That  he  would  account  himself  the 
most  unfortunate  of  men,  if  he  could  be  supposed  capable 
of  neglecting  his  duty,  in  modes  and. circumstances  when 
it  was  expected,  and  would  have  been  agreeable.  He  was 
deeply  gratified  by  the  honor  which  her  Majesty  was  now 
doing  to  him  personally;  and  he  trusted  she  would  soon 
perceive  that  it  was  in  a  matter  essential  to  his  Majesty's 
interest,  that  he  had  the  boldness  to  give  her  this  trouble." 

"You  cannot  oblige  me  more,  my  Lord  Duke,"  replied 
the  Queen,  "than  by  giving  me  the  advantage  of  your 
lights  and  experience  on  any  point  of  the  King's  service. 
Your  Grace  is  aware,  that  I  can  only  be  the  medium 
through  which  the  matter  is  subjected  to  his  Majesty's 
superior  wisdom;  but  if  it  is  a  su'^  v.-hich  respects  your 


436  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Grace  personally,  it  shall  lose  no  support  by  being  pre- 
ferred through  me." 

'Tt  is  no  suit  of  mine,  madam,"  replied  the  Duke; 
''nor  have  I  any  to  prefer  for  myself  personally,  although 
I  feel  in  full  force  my  obligation  to  your  Majesty.  It  is  a 
business  which  concerns  his  Majesty,  as  a  lover  of  justice 
and  of  mercy,  and  which,  I  am  convinced,  may  be  highly 
useful  in  conciliating  the  unfortunate  irritation  which  at 
present  subsists  among  his  Majesty's  good  subjects  in 
Scotland." 

TheFe  were  two  parts  of  this  speech  disagreeable  to 
Caroline.  In  the  first  place,  it  removed  the  flattering 
notion  she  had  adopted,  that  Argyle  designed  to  use  her 
personal  intercession  in  making  his  peace  with  the  ad- 
ministration, and  recovering  the  employments  of  which 
he  had  been  deprived;  and  next,  she  was  displeased  that 
he  should  talk  of  the  discontents  in  Scotland  as  irrita- 
tions to  be  conciliated,  rather  than  suppressed. 

Under  the  influence  of  these  feelings,  she  answered 
hastily,  "That  his  Majesty  has  good  subjects  in  England, 
my  Lord  Duke,  he  is  bound  to  thank  God  and  the  laws — 
that  he  has  subjects  in  Scotland,  I  think  he  may  thank 
God  and  his  sword." 

The  Duke,  though  a  courtier,  colored  slightly,  and  the 
Queen,  instantly  sensible  of  her  error,  added,  without  dis- 
playing the  least  change  of  countenance,  and  as  if  the 
words  had  been  an  original  branch  of  the  sentence — "And 
the  swords  of  those  real  Scotchmen  who  are  friends  to 
the  House  of  Brunswick,  particularly  that  of  His  Grace 
of  Argyle." 

"My  sword,  madam,"  replied  the  Duke,  "like  that  of  my 
fathers,  has  been  always  at  the  command  of  my  lawful 
king,  and  of  my  native  country — I  trust  it  is  impossible 
to  separate  their  real  rights  and  interests.  But  the  present 
is  a  matter  of  more  private  concern,  and  respects  the 
person  of  an  obscure  individual." 

"What  is  the  affair,  my  lord?"  said  the  Queen.  "Let  us 
find  out  what  we  are  talking  about,  lest  we  should  mis- 
construe and  misunderstand  each  other." 

"The  matter,  madam,"  answered  the  Duke  of  Argyle, 
"regards  the  fate  of  an  unfortunate  young  woman^  in 
Scotland,  now  lying  under  sentence  of  death,  for  a  crime 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTTITAN  437 

of  whirli  I  til  ink  it  hijj:hly  probable  that  she  is  innocent. 
And  my  hunible  petition  to  your  Majesty  is,  to  obtain 
your  powerful  intercession  with  the  King  for  a  pardon." 

It  was  now  the  Queen's  turn  to  color,  and  she  did  so 
over  cheek  and  brow — neck  and  bosom.  She  paused  a 
moment,  as  if  unwilling  to  trust  her  voice  with  the  first 
expression  of  her  displeasure;  and  on  assuming  an  air  of 
dignity  and  an  austere  regard  of  control,  she  at  length 
replied,  "My  Lord  Duke,  I  will  not  ask  your  motives 
for  addressing  to  me  a  request  which  circumstances  have 
rendered  such  an  extraordinary  one.  Your  road  to  the 
King's  closet,  as  a  peer  and  a  privy-councillor,  entitled  to 
request  an  audience,  was  open,  without  giving  me  the 
pain  of  this  discussion.  I,  at  least,  have  had  enough  of 
Scotch  pardons." 

The  Duke  was  prepared  for  this  burst  of  indignation, 
and  he  was  not  shaken  by  it.  He  did  not  attempt  a  reply 
while  the  Queen  was  in  the  first  heat  of  displeasure,  but 
ronKiined  in  the  same  firm,  yet  respectful  posture,  which 
he  had  a.>^sumed  during  the  interview.  The  Queen,  trained 
from  her  situation  to  self-command,  instantly  perceived 
the  advantage  she  might  give  against  herself  by  yielding 
to  passion;  and  added,  in  the  same  condescending  and 
affable  tone  in  which  she  had  opened  the  interview,  '^You 
must  allow  me  some  of  the  privileges  of  the  sex,  my  Lord ; 
and  do  not  judge  imcharitably  of  me,  though  I  am  a  little 
moved  at  the  recollection  of  the  gross  insult  and  outrage 
done  in  your  capital  city  to  the  royal  authority,  at  the 
very  time  when  it  was  vested  in  my  unworthy  person. 
Your  Grace  cannot  be  surprised  that  I  .should  both  have 
felt  it  at  the  time,  and  recollected  it  now." 

"It  is  certainly  a  matter  not  speedily  to  be  forgotten," 
answered  the  Duke.  "My  own  poor  thoughts  of  it  have 
been  long  before  your  Majesty,  and  I  nuist  have  expressed 
myself  very  ill  if  I  did  not  convey  my  dctc^static^i  of  the 
murder  which  was  committed  under  such  extraordinary 
circumstances.  I  might,  ind<'ed,  be  so  unfortunate  as  to 
differ  with  his  ^fajesty's  advisers  on  the  degree  in  which 
it  was  either  just  or  politic  to  j)unish  the  innocent  instead 
of  the  guilty.  Rut  I  trust  your  Majesty  will  permit  me 
to  be  silent  on  a  topic  in  which  my  .sentiments  have  not 
the  good  fortune  to  coincide  with  those  of  more  able  men." 


438  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

"We  will  not  prosecute  a  topic  on  which  we  may  prob- 
ably differ,"  said  the  Queen.  "One  word,  however,  I  may 
say  in  private — You  know  our  good  Lady  Suffolk  is  a  little 
deaf — the  Duke  of  Argyle,  when  disposed  to  renew  his 
acquaintance  with  his  master  and  mistress,  will  hardly 
find  many  topics   on   which   we   should   disagree." 

"Let  me  hope,"  said  the  Duke,  bowing  profoundly  to  so 
flattering  an  intimation,  "that  I  shall  not  be  so  un- 
fortunate as  to  have  found  one  on  the  present  occasion." 

"I  must  first  impose  on  your  Grace  the  duty  o-f  confes- 
sion," said  the  Queen,  "before  I  grant  you  absolution. 
What  is  your  particular  interest  in  this  young  woman? 
She  does  not  seem"  (and  she  scanned  Jeanie,  as  she  said 
this,  with  the  eye  of  a  connoisseur)  "much  qualified  to 
alarm  my  friend   the   Duchess's   jealousy." 

"I  think  your  Majesty,"  replied  the  Duke,  smiling  in  ' 
his  turn,  "will  allow  my  taste  may  be  a  pledge  for  me  on  i 
that  score."  i 

"Then,  though  she  has  not  much  the  air  d'une  grccnde  \ 
dame,  I  suppose  she  is  some  thirtieth  cousin  in  the  terrible  ! 
chapter  of  Scottish  genealogy?"  i 

"No,  madam,"  said  the  Duke;  "but  I  wish  some  of  my    ! 
nearer     relations     had     half     her    worth,     honesty,     and 
affection." 

"Her  name  must  be  Campbell,  at  least?"  said  Queen 
Caroline.. 

"No,  madam;  her  name  is  not  quite  so  distinguished,  if 
I  may  be  permitted  to  say  so,"  answered  the  Duke. 

"Ah!  but  she  comes  from  Inverary  or  Argyleshire ?" 
said  the  sovereign. 

"She  has  never  been  farther  north  in  her  life  than 
Edinburgh,  madam." 

"Then  my  conjectures  are  all  ended,"  said  the  Queen, 
"and  your  Grace  must  yourself  take  the  trouble  to  ex- 
plain the  affair  of  your  protegee." 

With  that  precision  and  easy  brevity  which  is  only 
acquired  by  habitually  conversing  in  the  higher  ranks  of 
society,  and  which  is  the  diametrical  opposite  of  that 
protracted  style  of  disquisition, 

Which  squires  call  potter,  and  which  men  call  prose, 
the  Duke  explained  the  singular  law  under  which  Effie 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  439 

Deans  had  received  sentence  of  death,  and  detailed  the 
affectionate  exertions  which  Jeanie  had  made  in  behalf 
of  her  sister,  for  whose  sake  she  was  willing  to  sacrifice 
all  but  truth  and  conscience. 

Queen  Caroline  listened  with  attention;  she  was  rather 
fond,  it  must  be  remembered,  of  an  argument,  and  soon 
found  matter  in  what  the  Duke  told  her  for  raising  diffi- 
culties to  his  request. 

*Tt  appears  to  me,  my  Lord,"  she  replied,  "that  this  is  a 
severe  law.  But  still  it  is  adopted  upon  good  grounds,  I 
am  bound  to  suppose,  as  the  law  of  the  country,  and  the 
girl  has  been  convicted  under  it.  The  very  presumptions 
which  the  law  construes  into  a  positive  proof  of  guilt 
exist  in  her  case;  and  all  that  your  Grace  has  said  con- 
cerning the  possibility  of  her  innocence  may  be  a  very 
good  argument  for  annulling  the  Act  of  Parliament,  but 
cannot,  while  it  stands  good,  be  admitted  in  favor  of  any 
individual  convicted  upon  the  statute." 

The  Duke  saw  and  avoided  the  snare;  for  he  was  con- 
scious, that,  by  replying  to  the  argument,  he  must  have 
been  inevitably  led  to  a  discussion,  in  the  course  of  which 
the  Queen  was  likely  to  be  hardened  in  her  own  opinion, 
until  she  became  obliged,  out  of  mere  respect  to  con- 
sistency, to  let  the  criminal  suffer.  "If  your  Majesty," 
he  said,  "would  condescend  to  hear  my  poor  country- 
Avoman  herself,  perhaps  she  may  find  an  advocate  in  your 
own  heart,  more  able  than  I  am,  to  combat  the  doubts 
suggested  by  your  understanding." 

The  Queen  seemed  to  acquiesce,  and  the  Duke  made  a 
signal  for  Jeanie  to  advance  from  the  spot  where  she  had 
hitherto  remained  watching  countenances,  which  were  too 
long  accustomed  to  suppress  all  apparent  signs  of  emo- 
tion, to  convey  to  her  any  interesting  intelligence.  Her 
Majesty  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  awe-struck  manner 
in  which  the  quiet  demure  figure  of  the  little  Scotch- 
woman advanced  toward  her,  and  yet  more  at  the  first 
sound  of  her  broad  nr)rthern  acfcnt.  But  J(>anie  hnd  a 
voice  low  and  sweetly  toned,  an  admirable  thing  in  woman, 
and  eke  besought  "her  Leddyship  to  have  pity  on  a  poor 
misguided  young  creature,"  in  tones  so  affecting,  that, 
like  the  notes  of  some  of  her  native  songs,  provincial 
vulgarity  was  lost  in  pathos. 


440  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

"Stand  up,  young  woman,''  said  the  Queen,  but  in  a 
kind  tone,  "and  tell  me  what  sort  of  a  barbarous  people 
your  countryfolk  are,  where  child-murder  is  become  so 
common  as  to  require  the  restraint  of  laws  like  yours?" 

"If  your  Leddyship  pleases,"  answered  Jeanie,  "there 
are  mony  places  besides  Scotland  where  mothers  are  un- 
kind to  their  ain  flesh  and  blood." 

It  must  be  observed,  that  the  disputes  between  George 
the  Second,  and  Frederick,  Prince  of  Wales,  were  then  at 
the  highest,  and  that  the  good-natured  part  of  the  public 
laid  the  blame  on  the  Queen.  She  colored  highly,  and 
darted  a  glance  of  a  most  penetrating  character  first  at 
Jeanie,  and  then  at  the  Duke.  Both  sustained  it  un- 
moved; Jeanie  from  total  unconsciousness  of  the  offence 
she  had  given,  and  the  Duke  from  his  habitual  com- 
posure. But  in  his  heart  he  thought,  My  unlucky 
protegee  has,  with  this  luckless  answer,  shot  dead,  by  a 
kind  of  chance  medley,  her  only  hope  of  success. 

Lady  Suffolk,  good-humoredly  and  skilfully,  interposed 
in  this  awkward  crisis.  "You  should  tell  this  lady,"  she 
said  to  Jeanie,  "the  particular  causes  which  render  this 
crime   common   in   your   country." 

"Some  thinks  it's  the  Kirk-Session — that  is — it's  the — 
it's  the  cutty-stool,  if  your  Leddyship  pleases,"  said 
Jeanie,  looking  down,   and  courtesying. 

"The  what  ?"  said  Lady  Suffolk,  to  whom  the  phrase 
was  new  and  who '  besides  was  rather  deaf. 

"That's  the  stool  of  repentance,  madam,  if  it  please 
your  Leddj'Ship,"  answered  Jeanie,  "for  light  life  and 
conversation,  and  for  breaking  the  seventh  command. 
Here  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  Duke,  saw  his  hand  at  his 
chin,  and,  totally  unconscious  of  what  she  had  said  out 
of  joint,  gave  double  effect  to  the  innuendo,  by  stopping 
short  and  looking  embarrassed. 

As  for  Lady  Suft'olk,  she  retired  like  a  covering  party, 
which,  having  interposed  betwixt  their  retreating  friends 
and  the  enemy,  have  suddenly  drawn  on  themselves  a  fire 
unexpectedly  severe. 

The  deuce  take  the  lass,  thought  the  Duke  of  Argyle  to 
himself:  there  goes  another  shot — and  she  has  hit  with 
both  barrels  right  and  left ! 

Indeed  the  Duke  had  himself  his  share  of  the  confusion. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  441 

for,  having  acted  as  master  of  ceremonies  to  this  innocent 
offender,  he  felt  much  in  the  circumstances  of  a  country 
squire,  who,  having  introduced  his  spaniel  into  a  well- 
appointed  drawing-room,  is  doomed  to  witness  the  dis- 
order and  damage  which  arises  to  china  and  to  dress- 
gowns,  in  consequence  of  its  untimely  frolics.  Jeanie's  last 
chance  hit,  however,  obliterated  the  ill  impression  which 
had  arisen  from  the  first;  for  her  Majesty  had  not  so  lost 
the  feelings  of  a  wife  in  those  of  a  Queen,  but  that  she 
could  enjoy  a  jest  at  the  expense  of  "her  good  Suffolk." 
She  turned  toward  the  Duke  of  Argyle  with  a  smile,  which 
marked  that  she  enjoyed  the  triumph,  and  observed,  "the 
Scotch  are  a  rigidly  moral  people."  Then  again  apply- 
ing herself  to  Jeanie,  she  asked,  how  she  travelled  up 
-from  Scotland. 

"Upon  my  foot  mostly,  madam,"  was  the  reply. 
-  "What,  all  that  immense  way  upon  foot? — How  far  can 
■you  walk  in  a  day?" 

"Five-and-twenty  miles  and  a  bittock." 

"And  a  what  ?"  said  the  Queen,  looking  toward  the 
Duke  of  Argyle. 

"And    about    five   miles   more,"   replied    the   Duke. 

"I  thought  I  was  a  good  walker,"  said  the  Queen,  "but 
this  shames  me  sadly." 

"May  your  Leddyship  never  hae  sae  weary  a  heart,  that 
ye  canna  be  sensible  of  the  weariness  of  the  limbs;"  said 
Jeanie. 

That  came  better  off,  thought  the  Duke;  it's  the  first 
thing  she  has  said  to  the  purpose. 

"And  T  didna  just  a'thegither  walk  the  ha  ill  way  neither, 
for  I  had  whiles  the  cast  of  a  cart;  and  1  had  the  cast 
of  a  horse  from  Ferrybridge — and  divers  other  easements," 
said  Jeanie,  cutting  short  her  story,  for  she  observed  the 
Duke  made  the  sign  ho  had  fixed  upon. 

"With  all  these  accommodations,"  answered  the  Queen, 
"you  must  have  had  a  very  fatiguing  journey,  and.  I  fear, 
to  little  purpose;  since,  if  the  King  were  to  pardon  your 
sister,  in  all  j>robjibility  it  wf»nld  do  her  little  good,  for  I 
suppose  your  people  of  Edinljurgh  would  hang  her  out  of 
spite." 

She  will  sink  herself  now  outright,  thought  the  Duke. 

But  he  was  wrong.     The  shoals  on  which  Jeanie  had 


442  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

touched  in  this  delicate  conversation  lay  underground, 
and  were  unknown  to  her;  this  rock  was  above  water,  and 
she  avoided  it. 

"She  was  confident,"  she  said,  "that  baith  town  and 
country  wad  rejoice  to  see  his  Majesty  taking  compassion 
on  a  poor  unfriended  creature." 

"His  Majesty  has  not  found  it  so  in  a  late  instance," 
said  the  Queen;  "but  I  suppose,  my  Lord  Duke  would 
advise  him  to  be  guided  by  the  votes  of  the  rabble  them- 
selves, who  should  be  hanged  and  who  spared?" 

"No,  madam,"  said  the  Duke;  "but  I  would  advise  his 
Majesty  to  be  guided  by  his  own  feelings,  and  those  of  his 
royal  consort;  and  then,  I  am  sure,  punishment  will  only 
attach  itself  to  guilt,  and  even  then  with  cautious  reluc- 
tance." 

"Well,  my  Lord,"  said  her  Majesty,  "all  these  fine 
speeches  do  not  convince  me  of  the  propriety  of  so  soon 
showing  any  mark  of  favor  to  j^our — I  suppose  I  must 
not  say  rebellious? — but,  at  least,  your  very  disaffected 
and  intractable  metropolis.  Why,  the  whole  nation  is  in 
a  league  to  screen  the  savage  and  abominable  murderers 
of  that  unhappy  man;  otherwise,  how  is  it  possible  but 
that,  of  so  many  perpetrators,  and  engaged  in  so  public 
an  action  for  such  a  length  of  time,  one  at  least  must 
have  been  recognized?  Even  this  wench,  for  aught  I  can 
tell,  may  be  a  depository  of  the  secret. — Hark  you,  young 
woman,  had  you  any  friends  engaged  in  the  Porteous 
mob?" 

"No,  madam,"  answered  Jeanie,  happy  that  the  ques- 
tion was  so  framed  that  she  could,  wath  a  good  conscience, 
answer  it  in  the  negative. 

"But  I  suppose,"  continued  the  Queen,  "if  you  were 
possessed  of  such  a  secret,  you  would  hold  it  matter  of 
conscience  to  keep   it  to  yourself?" 

"I  would  pray  to  be  directed  and  guided  what  was  the 
line  of  duty,  madam,"  answered  Jeanie. 

"Yes,  and  take  that  which  suited  your  own  inclina- 
tions," replied  her  Majesty. 

"If  it  like  you,  madam,"  said  Jeanie,  "I  would  hae 
gaen  to  the  end  of  the  earth  to  save  the  life  of  John 
Porteous,  or  any  other  unhappy  man  in  his  condition; 
but  I  might  lawfully  doubt  how  far  I  am  called  upon  to 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  443 

be  the  avenger  of  his  blood,  though  it  may  beeome  the 
civil  magistrate  to  do  so.  He  is  dead  and  gane  to  his 
place,  and  they  that  have  slain  him  must  answer  for  their 
ain  act.  But  my  sister,  my  puir  sister  Effie,  still  lives, 
though  her  days  and  hours  are  numbered! — She  still 
lives,  and  a  word  of  the  King's  mouth  might  restore  her 
to  a  broken-hearted  auld  man,  that  never,  in  his  daily  and 
nightly  exercise,  forgot  to  pray  that  his  Majesty  might  be 
blessed  with  a  long  and  a  prosperous  reign,  and  that  his 
throne,  and  the  throne  of  his  posterity,  might  be  estab- 
lished in  righteousness.  Oh,  madam,  if  ever  ye  kend 
what  it  was  to  sorrow  for  and  with  a  sinning  and  a  suffer- 
ing creature,  whose  mind  is  sae  tossed  that  she  can  be 
neither  ca'd  fit  to  live  or  die,  have  some  compassion  on 
our  misery! — Save  an  honest  house  from  dishonor,  and 
an  unhappy  girl,  not  eighteen  years  of  age,  from  an  early 
and  dreadful,  death!  Alas!  it  is  not  when  we  sleep  soft 
and  wake  merrily  ourselves,  that  we  think  on  other  people's 
sufferings.  Our  hearts  are  waxed  light  within  us  then, 
and  we  are  for  righting  our  ain  wrangs  and  fighting  our 
ain  battles.  But  when  the  hour  of  trouble  comes  to  the 
mind  or  to  the  body — and  seldom  may  it  visit  your  Leddy- 
ship — and  when  the  hour  of  death  comes,  that  comes  to 
high  and  low — lang  and  late  may  it  be  yours — Oh,  my 
Leddy,  then  it  isna  what  we  hae  dune  for  oursells,  but 
what  we  hae  dune  for  others,  that  we  think  on  maist 
pleasantly.  And  the  thoughts  that  ye  hae  intervened  to 
spare  the  puir  thing's  life  will  be  sweeter  in  that  hour, 
come  when  it  may,  than  if  a  word  of  your  mouth  could 
hang  the  haill  Porteous  mob  at  the  tail  of  ae  tow." 

Tear  followed  tear  down  Jeanie's  cheeks,  as,  her  features 
glowing  and  quivering  with  emotion,  she  pleaded  her 
sister's  cause  with  a  pathos  which  was  at  once  simple  and 
solemn. 

"This  is  eloquence,"  said  her  Majesty  to  the  Puke  of 
Arg\'le.  "Young  woman,"  she  continued,  addressing  her- 
self to  Jeanie,  *'/  cannot  grant  a  pard(»n  to  your  sister — 
but  you  shall  not  want  my  warm  intercession  with  his 
Majesty.  Take  this  housewife  case,"  she  continued,  put- 
ting a  small  embroidered  needle-case  into  Jeanie's  hands; 
'^do  not  open   it  now,  but  at  your  leisure  you  will  find 


444  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

something  in  it  which  will  remind  you  that  you  have  had 
an  interview  with  Queen   Caroline." 

Jeanie,  having  her  suspicions  thus  confirmed,  dropped 
on  her  knees,  and  would  have  expanded  herself  in  grati- 
tude; but  the  Duke,  who  was  upon  thorns  lest  she  should 
say  more  or  less  than  just  enough,  touched  his  chin  once 
more. 

"Our  business  is,  I  think,  ended  for  the  present,  my 
Lord  Duke,"  said  the  Queen,  "and,  I  trust,  to  your  satis- 
faction. Hereafter  I  hope  to  see  your  Grace  more  fre- 
quently, both  at  Kichmond  and  St.  James's. — Come,  Lady 
Suffolk,  we  must  wish  his  Grace  good  morning." 

They  exchanged  their  parting  reverences,  and  the  Duke, 
so  soon  as  the  ladies  had  turned  their  backs,  assisted 
Jeanie  to  rise  from  the  ground,  and  conducted  her  back 
through  the  avenue,  which  she  trode  with  the  feeling  of 
one  who  walks  in  her  sleep. 


CHAPTEE    XXXVIII 

So   soon   as  I  can  win   the   offended   King, 
I  will  be  known  your  advocate. 

Cymheline. 

The  Duke  of  Argyle  led  the  way  in  silence  to  the  small 
postern  by  which  they  had  been  admitted  into  Richmond 
Park,  so  long  the  favorite  residence  of  Queen  Caroline. 
It  was  opened  by  the  same  half-seen  janitor,  and  they 
found  themselves  beyond  the  precincts  of  the  royal  de- 
mesne. Still  not  a  word  was  spoken  on  either  side.  The 
Duke  probably  wished  to  allow  his  rustic  protegee  time 
to  recruit  her  faculties,  dazzled  and  sunk  with  colloquy 
sublime;  and  betwixt  what  she  had  guessed,  had  heard, 
■  and  had  seen,  Jeanie  Deans's  mind  was  too  much  agitated 
to  permit  her  to  ask  any  questions. 

They  found  the  carriage  of  the  Duke  in  the  place  where 
they  had  left  it;  and  when  they  resumed  their  places, 
soon  began  to  advance  rapidly  on  their  return  to  town. 

"I  think,  Jeanie,"  said  the  Duke,  breaking  silence, 
"you  have  every  reason  to  congratulate  yourself  on  the 
issue  of  your  interview  with  her  Majesty." 


THE    HEART    OF    MTD-LOTHIAX  445 

"And  that  leddy  was  the  Queen  hersell?''  said  Jeanie; 
1  misdoubted  it  when  I  saw  that  your  honor  didna  put 
on  your  hat — And  yet  I  can-  hardly  believe  it,  even  when 
I  heard  her  speak  it  hersell.'' 

'*It  was  certainly  Queen  Caroline,''  replied  the  Duke. 
"Have  you  no  curiosity  to  see  what  is  in  the  little  pocket- 
book  ?" 

**Do  you  think  the  pardon  will  be  in  it,  sir?''  said  Jeanie, 
•U'ith  the  eager  animation  of  hope. 

"Why,  no,"  replied  the  Duke;  "that  is  unlikely.  They 
seldom  carry  these  things  about  them,  unless  they  were 
likely  to  be  wanted ;  and,  besides,  her  Majesty  told  you  it 
was  the  Kincr,  not  she,  who  was  to  errant  it." 

"That  is  true,  too,"  said  Jeanie;  "but  I  am  so  confused 
in  my  mind — But  does  your  honor  think  there  is  a  cer- 
tainty of  Effie's  pardon  then  ?"  continued  she,  still  hold- 
ing in  her  hand  the  unopened  pocket-book. 

"Why,  kings  are  kittle  cattle  to  shoe  behind,  as  we  say 
in  the  nnrth."  replied  the  Duke;  "but  his  wife  knows  his 
trim,  and  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that  the  matter  is 
quite  certain.'' 

"O  God  be  praised!  God  be  praised!"  ejaculated  Jeanie; 
"and  may  the  gude  leddy  never  want  the  heart 's-ease  she 
has  gien  me  at  this  moment — And  God  bless  you  too.  my 
Lord !  without  your  help  I  wad  ne'er  hae  won  near  her." 

The  Duke  let  her  dwell  upon  this  subject  for  a  con- 
siderable time,  curious,  perhaps,  to  see  how  long  the 
feelings  of  gratitude  would  continue  to  supersede  those  of 
curiosity.  But  so  feeble  was  the  latter  feeling  in  Jeanie's 
mind,  that  his  Grace,  with  whom,  perhaps,  it  was  for  the 
time  a  little  stronger,  was  obliged  once  more  to  bring  for- 
ward the  subject  of  the  Queen's  present.  It  was  opened 
accordingly.  In  the  inside  of  the  case  were  the  usual 
assortment  of  silk  and  needles,  with  scissors,  tweezers, 
etc.;  and  in  the  pocket  was  a  bank-bill  for  fifty  pounds. 

The  Duke  had  no  sooner  informed  Jeanie  of  the  value 
of  this  last  document,  for  she  was  unaccustomed  to  see 
notes  for  such  sums,  than  she  expressed  her  regret  at  the 
mistake  which  had  taken  place.  "For  the  hussy  itsell." 
she  said,  "was  a  very  valuable  thing  for  a  keepsake,  with 
the  Queen's  name  written  in  the  inside  with  her  ain  hand 


446  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

doubtless — Caroline — as  plain  as  could  be,   and  a  crown 
drawn  aboon  it." 

She  therefore  tendered  the  bill  to  the  Duke,  requesting 
him  to  find  some  mode  of  returning  it  to  the  royal  owner. 

"No,  no,  Jeanie,"  said  the  Duke,  "there  is  no  mistake 
in  the  case.  Her  Majesty  knows  you  have  been  put  to 
great  expense,  and  she  wishes  to  make  it  up  to  you." 

"I  am  sure  she  is  even  ower  gude,"  said  Jeanie,  "and 
it  glads  me  muckle  that  I  can  pay  back  Dumbiedikes  his 
siller,  without  distressing  my  father,  honest  man." 

"Dumbiedikes?  What,  a  freeholder  of  Mid-Lothian,  is 
he  not?"  said  his  Grace,  whose  occasional  residence  in 
that  county  made  him  acquainted  with  most  of  the 
heritors,  as  landed  persons  are  termed  in  Scotland — "He 
has  a  house  not  far  from  Dalkeith,  wears  a  black  wig  and 
a  laced  hat?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Jeanie,  who  had  her  reasons  for 
being  brief  in  her   answers   upon   this   topic. 

"Ah!  my  old  friend  Dumbie!"  said  the  Duke;  "I  have 
thrice  seen  him  fou,  and  only  once  heard  the  sound  of 
his  voice — Is  he  a  cousin  of  yours,   Jeanie?" 

"No,  sir, — my  Lord." 

"Then  he  must  be  a  well-wisher,  I  suspect?" 

"Ye — yes, — my  Lord,  sir,"  answered  Jeanie,  blushing, 
and  with  hesitation. 

"Aha !  then,  if  the.  Laird  starts,  I  suppose  my  friend 
Butler  must  be  in  some  danger?" 

"Oh  no,  sir,"  answered  Jeanie  much  more  readily,  but 
at  the  same  time  blushing  much  more  deeply. 

"Well,  Jeanie,"  said  the  Duke,  "you  are  a  girl  may  be 
safely  trusted  with  your  own  matters,  and  I  shall  inquire 
no  farther  about  them.  But  as  to  this  same  pardon,  I 
must  see  to  get  it  passed  through  the  proper  forms ;  and  I 
have  a  friend  in  office  who  will,  for  auld  lang  syne,  do  me 
so  much  favor.  And  then,  Jeanie,  as  I  shall  have  occasion 
to  send  an  express  down  to  Scotland,  who  will  travel  with 
it  safer  and  more  swiftly  than  you  can  do,  I  will  take 
care  to  have  it  put  into  the  proper  channel;  meanwhile, 
you  may  write  to  your  friends,  by  post,  of  your  good 
success." 

"And  does  your  Honor  think,"  said  Jeanie,  "that  will 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  447 

do  as  weel  as  if  I  were  to  take  my  tap  in  my  lap,  and 
slip  my  ways  hame  again  on  my  ain  errand?" 

"Much  better,  certainly,"  said  the  Duke.  "You  know 
the  roads  are  not  very  safe  for  a  single  woman  to  travel." 

Jeanie   internally   acquiesced   in   this   observation. 

"And  I  have  a  plan  for  you  besides.  One  of  the 
Duchess's  att^-ndants,  and  one  of  mine — your  acquaintance 
Archibald — are  going  down  to  Inverary  in  a  light  calash, 
with  four  horses  I  have  bought,  and  there  is  room  enough 
in  the  carriage  for  you  to  go  with  them  as  far  as  Glasgow, 
where  Archibald  will  find  means  of  sending  you  safely  to 
Edinburgh.  And  on  the  way,  I  beg  you  will  teach  the 
woman  as  much  as  you  can  of  the  mystery  of  cheese- 
making,  for  she  is  to  have  a  charge  in  the  dairy,  and  I 
dare  swear  you  are  as  tidy  about  your  milk -pail  as  about 
your  dress." 

"Does  your  honor  like  cheese?"  said  Jeanie,  with  a 
gleam  of  conscious  delight  as  she  asked  the  question. 

"Like  it?"  said  the  Duke,  whose  good-nature  antici- 
pated what  was  to  follow, — "cakes  and  cheese  are  a  dinner 
for  an  emperor,  let   alone  a  Highlandman." 

"Because,"  said  Jeanie,  with  modest  confidence,  and 
great  and  evident  self-gratulation,  "we  have  been  thought 
so  particular  in  making  cheese,  that  some  folk  think  it 
as  gude  as  the  real  Dunlop;  and  if  your  Honor's  Grace 
wad  but  accept  a  stane  or  twa,  blithe,  and  fain,  and  proud 
it  wad  make  us !  But  maybe  ye  may  like  the  ewe-milk, 
that  is,  the  Buckholra  side"*^  cheese  better;  or  maybe  the 
gait-milk,  as  ye  come  frae  the  Highlands  and  I  canna 
pretend  just  to  the  same  skeel  o'  them;  but  my  cousin 
Jean,  that  lives  at  Lockermachus  in  Lammermuir,  I  could 
speak  to  her,  and " 

"Quite  unnecessary,"  said  the  Duke;  "the  Dunlop  is 
the  very  cheese  of  which  I  am  so  fond,  and  I  will  take  it 
as  the  greatest  favor  you  can  do  me  to  send  one  to 
Caroline  Park.  But  remember,  be  on  honor  with  it, 
Jeanie,  and  make  it  all  yourself,  for  I  am  a  real  good 
judge." 

*  The  hilly  pastures  of  Buckholm,  which  the  author  now  surveys, 
"Not   in  the   frenzy  of  a   dreamer's   eye." 
are    famed    for    producing    the    best    ewe-milk    cheese    in    the    sontli    of 
Scotland. 


448  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

"I  am  not  feared,"  said  Jeanie  confidently,  "that  I  may 
please  your  Honor;  for  I  am  sure  you  look  as  if  you 
could  hardly  find  fault  wi'  onybody  that  did  their  best; 
and  weel  is  it  my  part,  I  trow,  to  do  mine." 

This  discourse  introduced  a  topic  upon  which  the  two 
travellers,  though  so  different  in  rank  and  education, 
found  each  a  good  deal  to  say.  The  Duke,  besides  his 
other  patriotic  qualities,  was  a  distinguished  agriculturist, 
and  proud  of  his  knowledge  in  that  department.  He  en- 
tertained Jeanie  with  his  observations  on  the  different 
breeds  of  cattle  in  Scotland,  and  their  capacity  for  the 
dairy,  and  received  so  much  information  from  her  prac- 
tical experience  in  return,  that  he  promised  her  a  couple 
of  Devonshire  cows  in  reward  for  the  lesson.  In  short, 
his  mind  was  so  transported  back  to  his  rural  employ- 
ments and  amusements,  that  he  sighed  when  his  carriage 
stopped  opposite  to  the  old  hackney-coach,  which  Archi- 
bald had  kept  in  attendance  at  the  place  where  they  had 
left  it.  While  the  coachman  again  bridled  his  lean  cattle, 
which  had  been  indulged  with  a  bite  of  musty  hay,  the 
Duke  cautioned  Jeanie,  not  to  be  too  communicative  to 
her  landlady  concerning  what  had  passed.  "There  is," 
he  said,  "no  use  of  speaking  of  matters  till  they  are  actual- 
ly settled ;  and  you  may  refer  the  good  lady  to  Archibald, 
if  she  presses  you  hard  with  questions.  She  is. his  old  ac- 
quaintance, and  he  knows  how  to  manage  with  her." 

He  then  took  a  cordial  farewell  of  Jeanie,  and  told  her 
to  be  ready  in  the  ensuing  week  to  return  to  Scotland — 
saw  her  safely  established  in  her  hackney-coach,  and 
rolled  off  in  his  own  carriage,  humming  a  stanza  of  the 
ballad  which  he  is  said  to  have  composed: — 

"At  the  sight  of  Dumbarton  once  again, 
I'll  cock  up  my  bonnet  and  march  amain, 
With  my  claymore  hanging  down  to  my  heel, 
To  whang  at  the  bannocks  of  barley  meal," 

Perhaps  one  ought  to  be  actually  a  Scotchman  to  con- 
ceive how  ardently,  under  all  distinctions  of  rank  and 
situation,  they  feel  their  mutual  connection  with  each 
other  as  natives  of  the  same  country.  There  are,  I  be- 
lieve, more  associations  common  to  the  inhabitants  of  a 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  449 

'ude  and  wild,  than  of  a  well-cultivated  and  fertile  coun- 
ry;  their  ancestors  have  more  seldom  changed  their  place 
)f  residence;  their  mutual  recollection  of  remarkable  ob- 
ects  is  more  accurate;  the  high  and  the  low  are  more 
nterested  in  each  other's  welfare;  the  feelings  of  kindred 
ind  relationship  are  more  widely  extended,  and,  in  a  word, 
he  bonds  of  patriotic  affection,  always  honorable  even 
vhen  a  little  too  exclusively  strained,  have  more  influence 
)n  men's  feelings  and  actions. 

The  rumbling  hackney-coach  which  tumbled  over  the 
^then)  execrable  London  pavement,  at  a  rate  very  differ- 
ent from  that  which  had  conveyed  the  ducal  carriage  to 
Richmond,  at  length  deposited  Jeanie  Deans  and  her  at- 
endant  at  the  nati.onal  sign  of  the  Thistle.  Mrs.  Glass, 
vho  had  been  in  long  and  anxious  expectation,  now 
•ushed,  full  of  eager  curiosity  and  open-mouthed  inter- 
•ogation,   upon   our  heroine,   who   was   positively   unable 

0  sustain  the  overwhelming  cataract  of  her  questions, 
vhich  burst  forth  with  the  sublimity  of  a  grand  gardy- 
00 : — "Had  she  seen  the  Duke,  God  bless  him — the 
Duchess — the  young  ladies? — Had  she  seen  the  King,  God 
)less  him — the  Queen — the  Prince  of  Wales — the  Princess 
—or  any  of  the  rest  of  the  royal  family? — Had  she  got 
ler  sister's  pardon? — Was  it  out  and  out — or  was  it  only 

1  commutation  of  punishment  ? — How  far  had  she  gone — 
vhere  had  she  driven  to — whom  had  she  seen — what  had 
Deen  said — what  had  kept  her  so  long?" 

Such  were  the  various  questions  huddled  upon  each 
>ther  by  a  curiosity  so  eager,  that  it  could  hardly  wait  for 
ts  own  gratification.  Jeanie  would  have  been  more  than 
sufficiently  embarrassed  by  this  overbearing  tide  of  in- 
:errogations,  had  not  Archibald,  who  had  probably  re- 
ceived from  his  master  a  hint  to  that  purpose,  advanced 
:o  her  rescue.  "Mrs.  Glass,"  said  Archibald,  "his  Grace 
iesired  me  particularly  to  say,  that  he  would  take  it  as  a 
srreat  favor  if  you  would  ask  the  young  woman  no  ques- 
tions, as  he  wishes  to  explain  to  you  more  distinctly  than 
jhe  can  do  how  her  affairs  stand,  and  consult  you  on 
Bome  matters  which  she  cannot  altogether  so  well  explain. 
The  Duke  will  call  at  the  Thistle  to-morrow  or  next  day 
for  that  purpose." 

"His   Grace   is  very   condescending,"   said  Mrs.   Glass, 


450  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

her  zeal  for  inquiry  slaked  for  the  present  by  the  dexterous 
administration  of  this  sugar-plum — ''his  Grace  is  sensible 
that  I  am  in  a  manner  accountable  for  the  conduct  of  my 
young  kinswoman,  and  no  doubt  his  Grace  is  the  best 
judge  how  far  he  should  entrust  her  or  me  with  the 
management  of  her  affairs." 

''His  Grace  is  quite  sensible  of  that,"  answered  Archi- 
bald with  national  gravity,  "and  will  certainly  trust  what 
he  has  to  say  to  the  most  discreet  of  the  two;  and  there- 
fore, Mrs.  Glass,  his  Grace  relies  you  will  speak  nothing 
to  Mrs.  Jean  Deans,  either  of  her  own  affairs  or  her 
sister's,  until  he  sees  you  himself.  He  desired  me  to  assure 
you,  in  the  meanwhile,  that  all  was  going  on  as  well  as 
your  kindness  could  wish,  Mrs.  Glass." 

"His  Grace  is  very  kind — very  considerate,  certainly, 
Mr.   Archibald — his   Grace's   commands   shall   be   obeyed, 

and But  you  have  had  a  far  drive,  Mr.  Archibald,  as 

I  guess  by  the  time  of  your  absence,  and  I  guess"  (with 
an  engaging  smile)  "you  winna  be  the  waur  o'  a  glass  of 
the  right  Rosa  Solis." 

"I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Glass,"  said  the  great  man's  great 
man,  "but  I  am  under  the  necessity  of  returning  to  my 
Lord  directly."  And  making  his  adieus  civilly  to  both 
cousins,  he  left  the  shop  of  the  Lady  of  the  Thistle. 

"I  am  glad  your  affairs  have  prospered  so  well,  Jeanie, 
my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Glass;  "though,  indeed,  there  was 
little  fear  of  them  so  soon  as  the  Duke  of  Argyle  was  so 
condescending  as  to  take  them  into  hand.  I  will  ask  you 
no  questions  about  them,  because  his  Grace,  who  is  most 
considerate  and  prudent  in  such  matters,  intends  to  tell 
me  all  that  you  ken  yourself,  dear,  and  doubtless  a  great 
deal  more;  so  that  anything  that  may  lie  heavily  on  your 
mind  may  be  imparted  to  me  in  the  meantime,  as  you 
see  it  is  his  Grace's  pleasure  that  I  should  be  made  ac- 
quainted with  the  whole  matter  forthwith,  and  whether 
you  or  he  tells  it,  will  make  no  difference  in  the  world,  ye 
ken.  If  I  ken  what  he  is  going  to  say  beforehand,  I  will 
be  much  more  ready  to  give  my  advice,  and  whether  you 
or  he  tell  me  about  it,  cannot  much  signify  after  all,  my 
dear.  So  you  may  just  say  whatever  you  like,  only  mind 
I  ask  you  no  questions  about  it." 

Jeanie  was  a  little  embarrassed.     She  thought  that  the 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  451 

communication  she  had  to  make  was  perhaps  the  only 
means  she  might  have  in  her  power  to  gratify  her  friendly 
and  hospitable  kinswoman.  But  her  prudence  instantly 
suggested  that  her  secret  inten'iew  with  Queen  Carol in'\ 
which  seemed  to  pass  under  a  certain  sort  of  mystery,  was 
not  a  proper  subject  for  the  gossip  of  a  woman  like  Mrs. 
Glass,  of  whose  heart  she  had  a  much  better  opinion  than 
of  her  prudence.  She.  therefore,  answered  in  general,  that 
the  Duke  had  had  the  extraordinary  kindness  to  make 
very  particular  inquiries  into  her  sisters  bad  affair,  and 
that  he  thought  he  had  found  the  means  of  putting  it  a' 
straight  again,  but  that  he  proposed  to  tell  all  that  he 
thought   about   the  matter  to  Mrs.   Glass  herself. 

This  did  not  quite  satisfy  the  penetrating  Mistress  of 
the  Thistle.  Searching  as  her  own  small  rappee,  she,  in 
epite  of  her  promise,  urged  Jeanie  with  still  further  ques- 
tions. "Had  she  been  a'  that  time  at  Argyle  House? 
Was  the  Duke  with  her  the  whole  time?  and  had  she  seen 
the  Duchess?  and  had  she  seen  the  young  ladies — and 
especially  Lady  Caroline  Campbell?" — To  these  questions 
Jeanie  gave  the  general  reply,  that  she  knew  so  little  of 
the  town  that  she  could  not  tell  exactly  where  she  had 
been;  that  she  had  not  seen  the  Duchess  to  her  knowl- 
edge; that  she  had  seen  two  ladies,  one  of  whom,  she 
understood,  bore  the  name  of  Caroline;  and  more,  she 
said,  she  could  not  tell  about  the  matter. 

"It  wf>uld  be  the  Duke's  eldest  daughter.  Lady  Caroline 
Campbell — there  is  no  doubt  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Glass; 
"but,  doubtless,  I  shall  know  more  particularly  through 
his  Grace. — And  so,  as  the  cloth  is  laid  in  the  little  parlor 
above  stairs,  and  it  is  past  three  o'clock,  for  I  have  been 
waiting  this  hour  for  you,  and  I  have  had  a  snack  myself; 
and,  as  they  used  to  say  in  Scotland  in  my  time — I  do  not 
ken  if  the  word  be  used  now — there  is  ill  talking  between 
a  full  body  and  a  fasting." 


452  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

Heaven    first    sent    letters    to    some    wretch's    aid — 
Some  banish'd  lover,  or  some  captive  maid. 

Pope. 

By  dint  of  unwonted  labor  with  the  pen,  Jeanie  Deans 
contrived  to  indite,  and  give  to  the  charge  of  the  postman 
on  the  ensuing  day,  no  less  than  three  letters,  an  exertion 
altogether  strange  to  her  habits;  insomuch  so,  that,  if 
milk  had  been  plenty,  she  would  rather  have  made  thrice 
as  many  Dunlop  cheeses.  The  first  of  them  was  very 
brief.  It  was  addressed  to  George  Staunton,  Esq.,  at  the 
Rectory,  Willingham,  by  Grantham;  the  address  being 
part  of  the  information  which  she  had  extracted  from  the 
communicative  peasant  who  rode  before  her  to  Stamford. 
It  was  in  these  words : — 

"SiR^ — To  prevent  farder  mischieves,  whereof  there  hath 
been  enough,  comes  these:  Sir,  I  have  my  sister's  pardon 
from  the  Queen's  Majesty,  whereof  I  do  not  doubt  you  will 
be  glad,  having  had  to  say  naut  of  matters  whereof  you 
know  the  purport.  So,  sir,  I  pray  for  your  better  welfare 
in  bodie  and  soul,  and  that  it  will  please  the  fisycian  to 
visit  you  in  His  good  time.  Alwaies,  sir,  I  pray  you  will 
never  come  again  to  see  my  sister,  whereof  there  has  been 
too  much.  And  so,  wishing  you  no  evil,  but  even  your 
best  good,  that  you  may  be  turned  from  your  iniquity  (for 
why  suld  ye  die?),  I  rest  your  humble  servant  to  com- 
mand, Ye  hen  wha." 

The  next  letter  was  to  her  father.  It  is  too  long  alto- 
gether for  insertion,  so  we  only  give  a  few  extracts.  It 
commenced — 

"Dearest  and  truly  honored  Eather, — This  comes 
with  my  duty  to  inform  you,  that  it  has  pleased  God  to 
redeem  that  captivitie  of  my  poor  sister,  in  respect  the 
Queen's  blessed  Majesty,  for  whom  we  are  ever  bound  to 
pray,  hath  redeemed  her  soul  from  the  slayer,  granting  the 
ransom  of  her,  whilk  is  ane  pardon  or  reprieve.     And  I 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  453 

spoke  with  the  Queen  face  to  face,  and  yet  live;  for  she 
is  not  muckle  differing  from  other  grand  leddies,  saving 
that  she  has  a  stately  presence,  and  een  like  a  blue  huntin' 
hawk's,  whilk  gaed  throu'  and  throu'  me  like  a  Hieland 
durk — And  all  this  good  was,  alway  under  the  Great 
Giver,  to  whom  all  are  but  instruments,  wrought  forth 
for  us  by  the  Duk  of  Argile,  wha  is  ane  native  true^ 
hearted  Scotsman,  and  not  pridefu',  like  other  folk  we  ken 
of — and  likewise  skeely  enow  in  bestial,  whereof  he  has 
promised  to  gie  me  twa  Devonshire  kye,  of  which  he  is 
enamoured,  although  I  do  still  hand  by  the  real  hawkit 
Airshire  breed — and  I  have  promised  him  a  cheese;  and  I 
wad  wuss  ye,  if  Gowans,  the  brockit  cow,  has  a  quey,  that 
she  suld  suck  her  fill  of  milk,  as  I  am  given  to  understand 
he  has  none  of  that  breed,  and  is  not  scornfu',  but  will 
take  a  thing  frae  a  puir  body,  that  it  may  lighten  their 
heart  of  the  loading  of  debt  that  they  awe  him.  Also  his 
Honor  the  Duke  will  accept  ane  of  our  Dunlop  cheeses, 
and  it  sail  be  my  faut  if  a  better  was  ever  yearned  in 
Lowden." — [Here  follow  some  observations  respecting  the 
breed  of  cattle,  and  the  produce  of  the  dairy,  which  it  is 
our  intention  to  forward  to  the  Board  of  Agriculture.]  — 
"Nevertheless,  these  are  but  matters  of  the  after-harvest, 
in  respect  of  the  great  good  which  Providence  hath  gifted 
us  with — and,  in  especial,  poor  Effie's  life.  And  oh,  my 
dear  father,  since  it  hath  pleased  God  to  be  merciful  to 
her,  let  her  not  want  your  free  pardon,  whilk  will  make 
her  meet  to  be  ane  vessel  of  grace,  and  also  a  comfort  to 
your  ain  graie  hairs.  Dear  father,  will  ye  let  the  Laird 
ken  that  we  have  had  friends  strangely-  raised  up  to  us, 
and  that  the  talent  whilk  he  lent  me  will  be  thankfully 
repaid.  I  hae  some  of  it  to  the  fore;  and  the  rest  of  it  is 
not  knotted  up  in  ane  purse  or  napkin,  but  in  ane  wee  bit 
paper,  as  is  the  fashion  heir,  whilk  1  am  assured  is 
gude  for  the  siller.  And,  dear  father,  through  Mr.  Butler's 
means  I  hae  gude  friendship  with  the  Duke,  for  their 
had  been  kindness  between  their  forbears'  in  the  auld 
troublesome  time  bye-past.  And  Mrs.  Glass  has«been  kind 
like  my  very  mother.  She  has  a  braw  house  here,  and 
lives  bien  and  warm,  wi'  twa  servant  lasses,  and  a  man 
and  a  callant  in  the  shop.  And  she  is  to  send  j'ou  doun 
a  pound  of  her  hie-dried,  and  some  other  tobaka,  and  we 


454  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

maun  think  of  some  propine  for  her,  since  her  kindness 
hath  been  great.  And  the  Duk  is  to  send  the  pardun  doun 
by  an  express  messenger,  in  respect  that  I  canna  travel 
sae  fast;  and  I  am  to  come  domi  wi'  twa  of  his  Honor's 
servants — that  is,  John  Archibald,  a  decent  elderly  gentle- 
man, that  says  he  has  seen  you  lang  syne,  when  ye  were 
buying  beasts  in  the  west  frae  the  Laird  of  Aughter- 
muggitie — but  maybe  ye  winna  mind  him — ony  way,  he's 
a  civil  man — and  Mrs.  Dolly  Dutton,  that  is  to  be  dairy- 
maid at  Inverara ;  and  they  bring  me  on  as  far  as  Glasgo', 
whilk  will  make  it  nae  pinch  to  win  hame,  whilk  I  desire 
of  all  things.  May  the  Giver  of  all  good  things  keep  ye 
in  your  outgauns  and  incomings,  whereof  devoutly  prayeth 
your  loving  dauter,  Jean  Deans/'' 

The  third  letter  was  to  Butler,  and  its  tenor  as  fol- 
lows : — 

''Master  Butler. — Sir, — It  will  be  pleasure  to  you  to 
ken,  that  all  I  came  for  is,  thanks  be  to  God,  weel  dune 
and  to  the  gude  end,  and  that  your  forbear's  letter  was 
right  welcome  to  the  Duke  of  Argile,  and  that  he  wrote 
your  name  down  with  a  kylevine  pen  in  a  leathern  book, 
whereby  it  seems  like  he  will  do  for  you  either  wi'  a  scule 
or  a  kirk;  he  has  enow  of  baith,  as  I  am  assured.  And  I 
have  seen  the  Queen,  which  gave  me  a  hussy-case  out  of 
her  own  hand.  She  had  not  her  crown  and  skeptre,  but 
they  are  laid  by  for  her,  like  the  bairns'  best  claise,  to 
be  worn  when  she  needs  them.  And  they  are  keepit  in  a 
tour,  whilk  is  not  like  the  tour  of  Libberton,  nor  yet 
Craigmillar,  but  mair  like  to  the  castell  of  Edinburgh,  if 
the  buildings  were  taen  and  set  down  in  the  midst  of 
the  Nor'-Loch.  Also  the  Queen  was  very  bounteous,  giv- 
ing me  a  paper  worth  fiftie  pounds,  as  I  am  assured,  to 
pay  my  expenses  here  and  back  agen.  Sae,  Master  Butler, 
as  we  were  aye  neebours'  bairns,  forby  onything  else  that 
may  hae  been  spoken  between  us,  I  trust  you  winna 
skrimp  yoursell  for  what  is  needfu'  for  your  health,  since 
it  signifies  not  muckle  whilk  o'  us  has  the  siller,  if  the 
other  wants  it.  And  mind  this  is  no  meant  to  baud  ye  to 
onything  w^hilk  ye  wad  rather  forget,  if  ye  suld  get  a 
charge  of  a  kirk  or  a  scule,  as  above  said.     Only  I  hope 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  455 

it  will  be  a  scule.  and  not  a  kirk,  because  of  these  diffi- 
culties anent  aiths  and  patronages,  whilk  might  gang 
ill  doun  wi'  my  honest  father.  Only  if  ye  could  compass 
a  harmonious  call  frae  the  parish  of  Skreegh-me-dead,  as 
ye  anes  had  hope  of,  I  trow  it  wad  please  him  weel ;  since 
I  hae  heard  him' say,  that  the  root  of  the  matter  was  mair 
deeply  hafted  in  that  wild  muirland  parish  than  in  the 
Canongate  of  Edinburgh.  I  wish  I  had  whaten  books  ye 
wanted,  Mr.  Butler,  for  they  hae  haill  houses  of  them 
here,  and  they  are  obliged  to  set  sum  out  in  the  street, 
whilk  are  said  cheap,  doubtless,  to  get  them  out  of  the 
weather.  It  is  a  muckle  place,  and  I  hae  seen  sae  muckle 
of  it,  that  my  poor  head  turns  round.  And  ye  ken  lang- 
syne  I  am  nae  great  pen-woman — and  it  is  near  eleven 
o'clock  o'  the  night.  I  am  cumming  down  in  good  com- 
pany, and  safe — and  I  had  troubles  in  gaun  up,  whilk 
makes  me  blither  of  travelling  wi'  kend  folk.  My  cousin, 
Mrs.  Glass,  has  a  braw  house  here,  but  a'  thing  is  sae 
poisoned  wi'  snulT,  that  I  am  like  to  be  scomfished  whiles. 
But  what  signifies  these  things,  in 'comparison  of  the  great 
deliverance  whilk  has  been  vouchsafed  to  my  fathers 
house,  in  whilk  you,  as  our  auld  and  dear  wellwisher.  will, 
I  dout  not,  rejoice  and  be  exceedingly  glad.  And  I  am, 
dear  Mr.  Butler,  your  sincere  well-wisher  in  temporal  and 
eternal  things,  J.  D." 

After  these  labors  of  an  unwonted  kind,  Jeanie  retired 
to  her  bed,  yet  scarce  could  sleep  a  few  minutes  together, 
so  often  was  she  awakened  by  the  heart-stirring  conscious- 
ness of  her  sister's  safety,  and  so  powerfully  urged  to 
deposit  her  burden  of  joy,  where  she  had  before  laid  her 
doubts  and  sorrows,  in  the  warm  and  sincere  exercises  of 
devotion. 

•All  the  next,  and  all  the  succeeding  day,  ^Nfrs,  Glass 
fidgeted  about  her  shop  in  the  agony  of  expectation,  like 
a  pea  (to  use  a  vulgar  simile  which  her  profession  renders 
appropriate)  upon  one  of  her  own  tobacco-pipes.  With 
the  third  morning  came  the  expected  coach,  with  four 
servants  clustered  behind  on  the  foot-board,  in  dark- 
brown  and  yellow  liveries;  the  Duke  in  person,  with  laced 
coat,  gold-headed  cane,  star  and  garter,  all,  as  the  story- 
book says,  verv  grand. 

He  inquired  for  his  little  countrywoman  of  Mrs.  Glass, 


456  THE    IIEAET    OF    MID-LOTHFAN 

but  without  requesting  to  see  her,  probably  because  he  was 
unwilling  to  give  an  appearance  of  personal  intercourse 
betwixt  them,  which  scandal  might  have  misinterpreted. 
''The  Queen,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Glass,  "had  taken  the  case 
of  her  kinswoman  into  her  gracious  consideration,  and 
being  specially  moved  by  the  affectionate  and  resolute 
character  of  the  elder  sister,  had  condescended  to  use  her 
powerful  intercession  with  his  Majesty,  in  consequence  of 
which  a  pardon  had  been  despatched  to  Scotland  to  Effie 
Deans,  on  condition  of  her  banishing  herself  forth  of  Scot- 
land for  fourteen  years.  The  King's  Advocate  had  in- 
sisted," he  said,  "upon  this  qualification  of  the  pardon, 
having  pointed  out  to  his  Majesty's  ministers,  that,  within 
the  course  of  only  seven  years,  twenty-one  instances  of 
child-murder  had   occurred   in   Scotland." 

"Weary  on  him !"  said  Mrs.  Glass,  "what  for  needed  he 
to  have  telled  that  of  his  ain  country,  and  to  the  English 
folk  abune  a'  ?  I  used  aye  to  think  the  Advocate  a  douce 
decent  man,  but  it  is  an  ill  bird — begging  your  Grace's 
pardon  for  speaking  of  such  a  coorse  by-word.  And  then 
what  is  the  poor  lassie  to  do  in  a  foreign  land? — Why, 
wae's  me,  it's  just  sending  her  to  play  the  same  pranks 
ower  again,  out  of  sight  or  guidance  of  her  friends.'* 

"Pooh !  pooh !"  said  the  Duke,  "that  need  not  be  antici- 
pated. Why,  she  may  come  up  to  London,  or  she  may  go 
to  America,  and  marry  well  for  all  that  is  come  and 
gone." 

"In  troth,  and  so  she  may  as  your  Grace  is  pleased  to 
intimate,"  replied  Mrs.  Glass;  "and  now  I  think  upon  it, 
there  is  my  old  correspondent  in  Virginia,  Ephraim 
Buckskin,  that  has  supplied  the  Thistle  this  forty  years 
with  tobacco,  and  it  is  not  a  little  that  serves  our  turn, 
and  he  has  been  writing  to  me  these  ten  years  to  send 
him  out  a  wife.  The  carle  is  not  above  sixty,  and  hale  and 
hearty,  and  well  to  pass  in  the  world,  and  a  line  from  my 
hand  would  settle  the  matter,  and  Effie  Deans's  mis- 
fortune (forby  that  there  is  no  special  occasion  to  speak 
pbout  it)  would  be  thought  little  of  there." 

"Is  she  a  pretty  girl?"  said  the  Duke;  "her  sister  does 
not  get  beyond  a  good  comely  sonsy  lass." 

"Oh,  far  prettier  is  Effie  than  Jeanie,"  said  Mrs.  Glass ; 
"though  it  is  long  since  I  saw  her  mysell,  but  I  hear  of 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTIIIAX  457 

the  Dcaiiscs  by  all  my  Lowden  friends  when  they  come — 
your  Grace  kens  we  Scots  are  clannish  bodies." 

''So  much  the  better  for  us,"  said  the  Duke,  "and  the 
worse  for  those  who  meddle  with  us,  as  your  good  old- 
fashioned  Scots  sign  says,  Mrs.  Glass.  And  now  I  hope 
you  will  approve  of  the  measures  I  have  taken  for  restor- 
ing your  kinswoman  to  her  friends."  These  he  detailed 
at  length,  and  ^Irs.  Glass  gave  her  unqualified  approba- 
tion, with  a  smile  and  a  courtesy  at  every  sentence.  "And 
now,  Mrs.  Glass,  you  must  tell  Jeanie,  I  hope  she  will 
not  forget  my  cheese  when  she  gets  down  to  Scotland. 
Archibald  has'  my  orders  to  arrange  all  her  expenses." 

"Begging  your  Grace's  humble  pardon,"  said  Mrs. 
Glass,  "it's  a  pity  to  trouble  yourself  about  them;  the 
Deanses  are  wealthy  people  in  their  way,  and  the  lass  has 
money   in  her  pocket." 

"That's  all  very  true,"  said  the  Duke;  "but  you  know, 
where  MacCallummore  travels  he  pays  all ;  it  is  our  High- 
land privilege  to  take  from  all  what  we  want,  and  to  give 
to  all  what  theu  want." 

"Your  Grace's  better  at  giving  than  taking,"  said  Mrs. 
Glass. 

"To  show  you  the  contrary,"  said  the  Duke,  "I  will  fill 
my  box  out  of  this  canister  without  paying  you  a  bawbee;" 
and  again  desiring  to  be  remembered  to  Jeanie,  with  his 
good  wishes  for  her  safe  journey,  he  departed,  leaving 
Mrs.  Glass  uplifted  in  heart  and  in  countenance,  the 
])rondest   and  happiest  of  tobacco  and  snuff  dealers. 

Reflectively,  his  Grace's  good-humor  and  affability  had 
a  favorable  effect  upon  Jeanie's  situation.  Her  kins- 
woman, thf>ugh  civil  and  kind  to  her.  had  acquired  too 
much  of  T.r»ndon  breeding  to  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  her 
cousin's  rustic  and  national  dress,  and  was,  besides,  some- 
thing scandalized  at  the  cause  of  her  journey  to  London. 
Mrs.  Glass  might,  therefore,  have  been  less  sedulous  in 
her  attentions  toward  Jeanie,  but  for  th(^  interest  which 
the  foremost  of  the  Scottish  nobles  (for  such,  in  all  men's 
estimation,  was  the  Duke  of  Argyle)  seemed  to  take  in 
hor  fate.  Now,  however,  as  a  kinswoman  whose  virtues 
and  domestic  affections  had  attracte<l  the  notice  and  ap- 
probation of  royalty  itself,  Jeanie  stood  to  her  relative 
in  a  light  ver>'  different  and  much  more  favorable,  and 


458  THE   HEAET    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

was  not  only  treated  with  kindness,  but  with  actual  ob- 
servance  and  respect. 

It  depended  upon  herself  alone  to  have  made  as  many 
visits,  and  seen  as  many  sights,  as  lay  within  Mrs.  Glass's 
power  to  compass.  But,  excepting  that  she  dined  abroad 
with  one  or  two  "far-away  kinsfolk,"  and  that  she  paid 
the  same  respect,  on  Mrs.  Glass's  strong  urgency,  to  Mrs. 
Deputy  Dabby,  wife  of  the  Worshipful  Mr.  Deputy  Dabby, 
of  Farringdon  Without,  she  did  not  avail  herself  of  the 
opportunity.  As  Mrs.  Dabby  was  the  second  lady  of  great 
rank  whom  Jeanie  had  seen  in  London,  she  used  some- 
times afterward  to  draw  a  parallel  betwixt  her  and  the 
Queen,  in  which  she  observed,  that  "Mrs.  Dabby  was 
dressed  twice  as  grand,  and  was  twice  as  big,  and  spoke 
twice  as  loud,  and  twice  as  muckle,  as  the  Queen  did, 
but  she  hadna  the  same  goss-hawk  glance  that  makes  the 
skin  creep,  and  the  knee  bend;  and  though  she  had  very 
kindly  gifted  her  with  a  loaf  of  sugar  and  twa  punds  of 
tea,  yet  she  hadna  a'thegither  the  sweet  look  that  the 
Queen  had  when  she  put  the  needle-book  into  her  hand." 

Jeanie  might  have  enjoyed  the  sights  and  novelties  of 
this  great  city  more,  had  it  not  been  for  the  qualification 
added  to  her  sister's  pardon,  which  greatly  grieved  her 
affectionate  disposition.  On  this  subject,  however,  her 
mind  was  somewhat  relieved  by  a  letter  which  she  received 
in  return  of  post,  in  answer  to  that  which  she  had  written 
to  her  father.  With  his  affectionate  blessing,  it  brought 
his  full  approbation  of  the  step  which  she  had  taken,  as- 
one  inspired  by  the  immediate  dictates  of  Heaven,  and 
which  she  had  been  thrust  upon  in  order  that  she  might 
become  the  means  of  safety  to  a  perishing  household. 

"If  ever  a  deliverance  was  dear  and  precious,  this,"  said 
the  letter,  "is  a  dear  and  precious  deliverance — and  if  life 
saved  can  be  made  more  sweet  and  savory,  it  is  when  it 
Cometh  by  the  hands  of  those  whom  we  hold  in  the  ties  of 
affection.  And  do  not  let  your  heart  be  disquieted  M'ithin 
you,  that  this  victim,  who  is  rescued  from  the  horns  of 
the  altar,  where  until  she  was  fast  bound  by  the  chains  of 
human  law,  is  now  to  be  driven  beyond  the  bounds  of  our 
land.  Scotland  is  a  blessed  land  to  those  who  love  the 
ordinances  of  Christianity,  and  it  is  a  faer  land  to  look 
upon,   and  dear  to  them  who  have  dwelt   in   it  a'  their 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  459 

days;  and  weel  said  that  judicious  Christian,  -worthy  John 
Livingstone,  a  sailor  in  Borrowstounness,  as  the  famous 
Patrick  Walker  reporteth  his  words,  that  howbeit  he 
thougrht  Scotland  was  a  Gehennah  of  wickedness  when  he 
was  at  home,  yet  when  he  was  abroad,  he  accounted  it  ane 
paradise;  for  the  evils  of  Scotland  he  found  everywhere, 
and  the  good  of  Scotland  he  found  nowhere.  But  we  are 
to  hold  in  remembrance  that  Scotland,  though  it  be  our 
native  land,  and  the  land  of  our  fathers,  is  not  like 
Goshen,  in  Egypt,  on  whilk  the  sun  of  the  heavens  and  of 
the  gospel  shineth  allenarly,  and  leaveth  the  rest  of  the 
world  in  utter  darkness.  Therefore,  and  also  because  this 
increase  of  profit  at  Saint  Leonard's  Crags  may  be  a 
cauld  waff  of  wind  blawing  from  the  frozen  land  of 
earthly  self,  where  never  plant  of  grace  took  root  or 
grew,  and  because  my  concerns  make  me  take  something 
ower  muckle  a  grip  of  the  gear  of  the  warld  in  mine  arms, 
I  receive  this  dispensation  anent  Effie  as  a  call  to  depart 
out  of  Haran,  as  righteous  Abraham  of  old,  and  leave  my 
father's  kindred  and  my  mother's  house,  and  the  ashes  and 
mould  of  them  who  have  gone  to  sleep  before  me,  and 
which  wait  to  be  mingled  with  these  auld  crazed  bones  of 
mine  own.  And  my  heart  is  lightened  to  do  this,  when  I 
call  to  mind  the  decay  of  active  and  earnest  religion  in 
this  land,  and  survey  the  height  and  the  depth,  the  length 
and  the  breadth,  of  national  defections,  and  how  the  love 
of  many  is  waxing  lukewarm  and  cold;  and  I  am  strength- 
ened in  this  resolution  to  change  my  domicile  likewise,  as 
I  hear  that  store-farms  are  to  be  set  at  an  easy  mail  in 
Xorthumberland,  where  there  are  many  precious  souls 
that  are  of  our  true,  though  suffering  persuasion.  And 
sic  part  of  the  kye  or  stock  as  I  judge  it  fit  to  keep,  may  be 
driven  thither  without  incommodity — say  about  Wooler, 
or  that  gate,  keeping  aye  a  shouther  to  the  hills — and  the 
rest  may  be  sauld  to  gude  profit  and  advantage,  if  we  had 
grace  weel  to  use  and  guide  these  gifts  of  the  warld.  The 
Laird  has  been  a  true  friend  on  our  unhappy  occasions, 
and  I  have  paid  him  back  the  siller  for  Effie's  misfortune, 
whereof  ^Ir.  >>ichil  Xovit  returned  him  no  balance,  as  the 
Laird  and  I  did  expect  he  would  hae  done.  But  law  licks 
up  a',  as  the  common  folk  say.  I  have  had  the  siller  to 
borrow  out  of  sax  purses.    Mr.  Saddletree  advised  to  give 


460  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

the  Laird  of  Lounsbeck  a  charge  on  his  band  for  a  thou- 
sand merks.  But  I  hae  nae  broo'  of  charges,  since  that 
awfu'  morning  that  a  tout  of  a  horn,  at  the  Cross  of 
Edinburgh,  blew  half  the  faithfu'  ministers  of  Scotland 
out  of  their  pulpits.  However,  I  shall  raise  an  adjudication 
whilk  Mr.  Saddletree  says  comes  instead  of  the  auld  ap- 
prisings,  and  will  not  lose  weel-won  gear  with  the  like  of 
him  if  it  may  be  helped.  As  for  the  Queen,  and  the 
credit  that  she  hath  done  to  a  poor  man's  daughter,  and 
the  mercy  and  the  grace  ye  found  with  her,  I  can  only 
pray  for  her  weel-being  here  and  hereafter,  for  the  estab- 
ment  of  her  house  now  and  forever,  upon  the  throne  of 
these  kingdoms.  I  doubt  not  but  what  you  told  her 
Majesty,  that  I  was  the  same  David  Deans  of  whom  there 
was  a  sport  at  the  Revolution  when  I  noited  thegither  the 
heads  of  twa  false  prophets,  these  ungracious  Graces  the 
prelates,  as  they  stood  on  the  Hie  Street,  after  being  ex- 
pelled from  the  Convention  Parliament.  The  Duke  of 
Argyle  is  a  noble  and  true-hearted  nobleman,  who  pleads 
the  cause  of  the  poor,  and  those  who  have  none  to  help 
them;  verily  his  reward  shall  not  be  lacking  unto  him. — I 
have  been  writing  of  many  things,  but  not  of  that  whilk 
lies  nearest  mine  heart.  I  have  seen  the  misguided  thing ; 
she  will  be  at  freedom  the  mom,  on  enacted  caution  that 
she  shall  leave  Scotland  in  four  weeks.  Her  mind  is  in 
an  evil  frame, — casting  her  eye  backward  on  Egypt,  I 
doubt,  as  if  the  bitter  waters  of  the  wilderness  were  harder 
to  endure  than  the  brick  furnaces,  by  the  side  of  which 
there  were  savory  flesh-pots.  I  need  not  bid  you  make 
haste  down,  for  you  are,  excepting  always  my  Great 
Master,  my  only  comfort  in  these  straits.  I  charge  you 
to  withdraw  your  feet  from  the  delusion  of  that  Vanity 
Eair  in  whilk  you  are  a  sojourner,  and  not  to  go  to  their 
worship,  which  is  an  ill-mumbled  mass,  as  it  was  weel 
termed  by  James  the  Sext,  though  he  afterward,  with  his 
unhappy  son,  strove  to  bring  it  ower  back  and  belly  into 
his  native  kingdom,  wherethrough  their  race  have  been 
cut  off  as  foam  upon  the  water,  and  shall  be  as  wanderers 
among  the  nations — see  the  prophecies  of  Hosea,  ninth 
and  seventeenth,  and  the  same,  tenth  and  seventh.  But 
us  and  our  house,  let  us  say  with  the  same  prophet :     'Let 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  461 

us  return  to  the  Lord,  for  He  hath  torn,  and  He  will  heal 
us — He  hath  smitten,  and  He  will  bind  us  np.'  " 

He  proceeded  to  say,  that  he  approved  of  her  proposed 
mode  of  returning  by  Glasgow,  and  entered  into  sundry 
minute  particulars  not  necessary  to  be  quoted.  A  single 
line  in  the  letter,  but  not  the  least  frequently  read  by 
the  party  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  intimated,  that 
"Reuben  Butler  has  been  as  a  son  to  him  in  his  sorrows." 
As  David  Deans  scarce  ever  mentioned  Butler  before, 
without  some  gibe,  more  or  less  direct,  either  at  his  carnal 
pifts  and  learning,  or  at  his  grandfather's  heresy,  Jeanie 
drew  a  good  omen  from  no-  such  qualifying  clause  being 
added  to  this   sentence  respecting  him. 

A  lovers  hope  resembles  the  bean  in  the  nursery  tale, — 
let  it  once  take  root,  and  it  will  grow  so  rapidly,  that  in 
the  course  of  a  few  hours  the  giant  Imagination  builds  a 
castle  on  the  top,  and  by-and-by  comes  Disappointment 
with  the  "curtal  axe,"  and  hews  down  both  the  plant  and 
the  superstructure.  Jeanie's  fancy,  though  not  the  most 
powerful  of  her  faculties,  was  lively  enough  to  transport 
her  to  a  wild  farm  in  Xorthumberland,  well  stocked  with 
milk-cows,  yeald  beasts,  and  sheep;  a  meeting-house  hard 
by,  frequented  by  serious  Presbyterians,  who  had  united 
in  a  harmonious  call  to  Reuben  Butler  to  be  their  spiritual 
guide;  Effie  restored,  not  to  gaiety,  but  to  cheerfulness 
at  least; — their  father,  with  his  gray  hairs  smoothed 
down,  and  spectacles  on  his  nose; — herself,  with  the 
maiden  snood  exchanged  for  a  matron's  curch — all  arranged 
in  a  pew  in  the  said  meeting-house,  listening  to  words  of 
devotion,  rendered  sweeter  and  more  powerful  by  the 
affectionate  ties  which  combined  them  with  the  preacher. 
She  cherished  such  visions  from  day  to  day,  until  her 
residence  in  London  began  to  become  insupportable  and 
tedious  to  her;  and  it  was  with  no  ordinary  satisfaction 
that  she  received  a  summons  from  Argyle  House,  requir- 
ing her  in  two  days  to  be  prepared  to  join  their  north- 
ward party. 


462  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTER    XL 

One  was  a  female,  wha  had  grievous  Ul 
Wrought  in  revenge,  and  she  enjoy'd  it  still; 
Sullen  she  was,  and  threatening;   in  her  eye 
Glared   the   stern   triumph  that  she   dared  to   die. 

Crabbe. 

The  summons  of  preparation  arrived  after  Jeanie  Deans 
had  resided  in  the  metropolis  about  three  weeks. 

On  the  morning  appointed  she  took  a  grateful  farewell 
of  Mrs.  Glass,  as  that  good-  woman's  attention  to  her 
particularly  required,  placed  herself  and  her  movable 
goods,  which  purchases  and  presents  had  greatly  increased, 
in  a  hackney-coach,  and  joined  her  travelling  companions 
in  the  housekeeper's  apartment  at  Argyle  House.  While 
the  carriage  was  getting  ready,  she  was  informed  that  the 
Duke  wished  to  speak  with  her;  and  being  ushered  into  a 
splendid  saloon,  she  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  wished 
to  present  her  to  his  lady  and  daughters. 

"I  bring  you  my  little  countrywoman,  Duchess,"  these 
were  the  words  of  the  introduction.  "With  an  army  of 
young  fellows,  as  gallant  and  steady  as  she  is,  and  a  good 
cause,  I  would  not  fear  two  to  one." 

"Ah,  papa !"  said  a  lively  young  lady,  about  twelve  years 
old,  "remember  you  were  full  one  to  two  at  Sheriff-muir, 
and  yet"  (singing  th6  well-known  ballad) — 

"  'Some  say  that  we  wan,  and  some  say  that  they  wan, 
And  some  say  that  nane  wan  at  a',  man: 
But  of  ae  thing  I'm  sure,  that  on  Sheriff-muir 
A  battle  there  was  that  I  saw,  man.'  " 

"What,  little  Mary  turned  Tory  on  my  hands? — This 
will  be  fine  news  for  our  countrywoman  to  carry  down  to 
Scotland!" 

"We  may  all  turn  Tories  for  the  thanks  we  have  got  for 
remaining  Whigs,"  said  the  second  young  lady. 

"Well,  hold  your  peace,  you  discontented  monkeys,  and 
do  dress  your  babies;  and  as  for  the  Bob  of  Dunblane, 

'If  it  wasna  wee!  bobbit,  weel  bobbit,  weel  bobbit, 
If  it  wasna  weel  bobbit,  we'll  bob  it  again.' " 


THE   HEART    OF    :MIT)-L0THIAN  463 

'"Papa's  wit  is  running:  low.''  said  Lady  Mary;  "tx.e  poor 
grentlt'inan  is  rei)eatinj]r  himself — he  sanjj:  that  on  the  field 
of  battle,  when  he  was  told  the  Hig-hlanders  had  cut  his 
left  win^  to  ]»ieces  with  their  claymores." 

A  pull  by  the  hair  was  the  repartee  to  this  sally. 

"Ah!  brave  Highlanders  and  brie:ht  claymores,"  said 
the  Duke,  "well  do  I  wish  them,  'for  a'  the  ill  they've  done 
me  yet,'  as  the  song:  groes. — But  come,  madcaps,  say  a  civil 
word  to  your  countrywoman — I  wish  ye  had  half  her 
canny  hamely  sense;  I  think  you  may  be  as  leal  and  true- 
hearted." 

The  Duchess  advanced,  and,  in  few  words,  in  which 
there  was  as  much  kindness  as  civility,  assured  Jeanie 
of  the  respect  which  she  had  for  a  character  so  aifection- 
ate.  and  yet  so  firm,  and  added,  "^Vhen  you  get  home,  you 
will  perhaps  hear  from  me." 

"And  from  me."  "And  from  me."  "And  from  me, 
Jeanie,"  added  the  young  ladies  one  after  the  other,  "for 
you  are  a  credit  to  the  land  we  love  so  well." 

Jeanie,  overpowered  with  these  unexpected  compli- 
ments, and  not  aware  that  the  Duke's  investigation  had 
made  him  acquainted  with  her  behavior  on  her  sister's 
trial,  could  only  answer  by  blushing,  and  courteseying 
rr>und  and  round,  and  uttering  at  interv^als,  "Mony 
thanks!  mony  thanks!" 

"Jeanie,"  said  the  Duke,  "you  must  have  doch  an  dor- 
rorh ,  or  you  will  be  unable  to  travel." 

There  was  a  salvor  with  cake  and  wine  on  the  table.  He 
took  up  a  glass,  drank  ''to  all  true  hearts  that  lo'ed  Scot- 
land," and  offered  a  glass  to  his  guest. 

Jeanie,  however,  declined  it,  saying,  "that  she  had  never 
tasted   wine  in  her  life." 

"How  comes  that,  Jeanie?"  said  the  Duke, — "wine 
maketh   glad    the  heart,   you   know." 

"Ay,  sir,  but  my  father  is  lik(>  Jonadab  the  son  of 
Rechab,  who  charged  liis  children  that  they  should  drink 
no  wine," 

"I  thought  your  father  would  have  had  more  sense,"  said 
the  Duke,  "unless,  indeed,  he  ])refers  brandy.  But,  how- 
ever, Jeanie,  if  you  will  not  drink,  yon  must  rnt,  to  save 
the  character  of  my  house," 

He  thrust  upon  her  a  large  pieces  of  cake,  nor  would  he 


464  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

permit  tier  to  break  off  a  fragment,  and  lay  the  rest  on  the 
salver.  "Put  it  in  your  pouch,  Jeanie,"  said  he;  "you 
will  be  glad  of  it  before  you  see  St.  Giles's  steeple.  I  wish 
to  Heaven  I  were  to  see  it  as  soon  as  you!  and  so  my 
best  service  to  all  my  friends  at  and  about  Auld  Reekie, 
and  a  blithe  journey  to  you." 

And,  mixing  the  frankness  of  a  soldier  with  his  natural 
affability,  he  shook  hands  with  his  protegee,  and  com- 
mitted her  to  the  charge  of  Archibald,  satisfied  that  he  had 
provided  sufficiently  for  her  being  attended  to  by  his 
domestics,  from  the  unusual  attention  with  which  he  had 
himself  treated  her. 

Accordingly,  in  the  course  of  her  journey,  she  found 
both  her  companions  disposed  to  pay  her  every  possible 
civility,  so  that  her  return,  in  point  of  comfort  and  safety, 
formed  a  strong  contrast  to  her  journey  to  London. 

Her  heart  also  was  disburdened  of  the  weight  of  grief, 
shame,  apprehension,  and  fear,  which  had  loaded  her  be- 
fore her  interview  with  the  Queen  at  Richmond.  But  the 
human  mind  is  so  strangely  capricious,  that,  when  freed 
from  the  pressure  of  real  misery,  it  becomes  open  and 
sensitive  to  the  apprehension  of  ideal  calamities.  She 
was  now  much  disturbed  in  mind,  that  she  had  heard 
nothing  from  Reuben  Butler,  to  whom  the  operation  of 
writing  was  so  much  more  familiar  than  it  was  to  herself. 

"It  would  have  cost  him  sae  little  fash,"  she  said  to 
herself;  "for  I  hae  seen  his  pen  gang  as  fast  ower  the 
paper,  as  ever  it  did  ower  the  water  when  it  was  in  the 
gray  goose's  wing.  Wae's  me !  may  be  he  may  be  badly — 
but  then  my  father  wad  likely  hae  said  something  about 
it — Or  maybe  he  may  hae  taen  the  rue,  and  kensna  how 
to  let  me  wot  of  his  change  of  mind.  He  needna  be  at 
muckle  fash  about  it,"  she  went  on,  drawing  herself  up, 
though  the  tear  of  honest  pride  and  injured  affection 
gathered  in  her  eye,  as  she  entertained  the  suspicion, — 
"Jeanie  Deans  is  no  the  lass  to  pu'  him  by  the  sleeve, 
or  put  him  in  mind  of  what  he  wishes  to  forget.  I  shall 
wish  him  weel  and  happy  a'  the  same;  and  if  he  has  the 
luck  to  get  a  kirk  in  our  country,  I  sail  gang  and  hear 
him  just  the  very  same,  to  show  that  I  bear  nae  malice." 
And  as  she  imagined  the  scene,  the  tear  stole  over  her 
eye. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  465 

In  these  melancholy  reveries,  Jeanie  had  full  time  to 
indulg-e  herself;  for  her  travelling  companions,  servants  in 
a  distinguished  and  fashionable  family,  had,  of  course, 
many  topics  of  conversation  in  which  it  was  absolutely 
impossible  she  could  have  either  pleasure  or  portion.  She 
had,  therefore,  abundant  leisure  for  reflection,  and  even 
for  self-tormenting,  during  the  several  days  which,  in- 
dulging the  young  horses  the  Duke  was  sending  down  to 
the  North  with  sufficient  ease  and  short  stages,  they  oc- 
cupied  in  reaching  the  neighborhood  of  Carlisle. 

In  ai)proaching  the  vicinity  of  that  ancient  city,  they 
discerned  a  considerable  crowd  upon  an  eminence  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  high  road,  and  learned  from  some 
passengers  who  were  gathering  toward  that  busy  scene 
from  the  southward,  that  the  cause  of  the  concourse  was, 
the  laudable  public  desire  "to  see  a  domned  Scotch  witch 
and  thief  get  half  of  her  due  upo'  Haribeebroo'  yonder, 
for  she  was  only  to  be  hanged;  she  should  hae  been 
boomed  aloive,  an'  cheap  on't." 

''Dear  Mr.  Archibald,"  said  the  dame  of  the  dairy 
elect,  "I  never  seed  a  woman  hanged  in  a'  my  life,  and 
only  four  men,  as  made  a  goodly  spectacle." 

Mr.  Archibald,  however,  was  a  Scotchman,  and  promised 
himself  no  exuberant  pleasure  in  seeing  his  country- 
woman undergo  "the  terrible  behests  of  law."  Moreover, 
he  was  a  man  of  sense  and  delicacy  in  his  way,  and  the 
late  circumstances  of  Jeanie's  family,  with  the  cause  of 
her  expedition  to  London,  were  not  unknown  to  him;  so 
that  he  answered  dryly,  it  was  impossible  to  stop,  as  he 
must  be  early  at  Carlisle  on  some  business  of  the  Duke's 
and  he  accordingly  bid  the  postilions  get  on. 

The  road  at  that  time  passed  at  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile's  distance  from  the  eminence,  called  Ilaribee  or 
Harabee  Brow,  which,  though  it  is  very  moderate  in  size 
and  height,  is  nevertheless  seen  from  a  great  distance 
around,  owing  to  the  llatness  of  the  country  through  which 
the  Eden  flows.  Here  many  an  outlaw,  and  border-rider 
of  both  kingdoms,  had  wavered  in  the  wind  during  the 
wars,  and  scarce  less  hostile  truces,  between  the  two  coun- 
tries. Upon  Harabee,  in  latter  days,  other  executions  had 
taken  place  with  as  little  ceremony  as  compassion;  for 
these    frontier    provinces    remained    long    unsettled,    and. 


466  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

even  at  the  time  of  which  we  write,  were  ruder  than  those 
in  the  centre  of  EngLand. 

The  postilions  drove  on,  wheeling,  as  the  Penrith  road 
led  them,  round  the  verge  of  the  rising  ground.  Yet  still 
the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Dolly  Dutton,  which,  with  the  head  and 
substantial  person  to  which  they  belonged,  were  all  turned 
toward  the  scene  of  action,  could  discern  plainly  the 
outline  of  the  gallows-tree,  relieved  against  the  clear  sky, 
the  dark  shade  formed  by  the  persons  of  the  executioner 
and  the  criminal  upon  the  light  rounds  of  the  tall  aerial 
ladder,  until  one  of  the  objects,  launched  into  the  air, 
gave  unequivocal  signs  of  mortal  agony,  though  appear- 
ing in  the  distance  not  larger  than  a  spider  dependent  at 
the  extremity  of  his  invisible  thread,  while  the  remaining 
form  desc-ended  from  its  elevated  situation,  and  regained 
with  all  speed  an  undistinguished  place  among  the  crowd. 
This  termination  of  the  tragic  scene  drew  forth  a  squall 
from  Mrs.  Dutton,  and  Jeanie,  with  instinctive  curiosity, 
turned  her  head  in  the  same  direction. 

The  sight  of  a  female  culprit  in  the  act  of  undergoing 
the  fatal  punishment  from  which  her  beloved  sister  had 
been  so  recently  rescued,  was  too  much,  not  perhaps  for 
her  nerves,  but  for  her  mind  and  feelings.  She  turned 
her  head  to  the  other  side  of  the  carriage,  with  a  sensation 
of  sickness,  of  loathing,  and  of  fainting.  Her  female  com- 
panion overwhelmed  her  with  questions,  with  proffers  of  as- 
sistance, with  requests  that  the  carriage  might  be  stopped 
— that  a  doctor  might  be  fetched — the  drops  might  be 
gotten — that  burnt  feathers  and  assafoetida,  fair  water,  and 
hartshorn,  might  be  procured,  all  at  once,  and  without  one 
instant's  delay.  Archibald,  more  calm  and  considerate, 
only  desired  the  carriage  to  push  forward;  and  it  was  not 
till  they  had  got  beyond  sight  of  the  fatal  spectacle,  that, 
seeing  the  deadly  paleness  of  Jeanie's  countenance,  he 
stopped  the  carriage,  and  jumping  out  himself,  went  in 
search  of  the  most  obvious  and  most  easily  procured  of 
Mrs.  Dutton's  pharmacopoeia — a  draught,  namely,  of  fair 
water. 

While  Archibald  was  absent  on  this  good-natured  piece 
of  service,  damning  the  ditches  which  produced  nothing 
but  mud,  and  thinking  upon  the  thousand  bubbling 
springlets  of  his  own  mountains,  the  attendants  on  the 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  467 

execution  begran  to  pass  the  stationary  vehicle  in  their 
way  back  to  Carlisle. 

From  their  half-heard  and  half-understood  words, 
Jeanie,  whose  attention  was  involuntarily  riveted  by  them, 
as  that  of  children  is  by  ghost  stories,  though  they  know 
the  pain  with  which  they  will  afterward  remember  them, 
Jeanie,  I  say,  could  discern  that  the  present  victim  of  the 
law  had  died  name,  as  it  is  termed  by  those  unfortunates; 
that  is,  sullen,  reckless,  and  impenitent,  neither  fearing 
God  nor  regarding  man. 

"A  sture  woife,  and  a  dour,"  said  one  Cumbrian  peas- 
ant, as  he  clattered  by  in  his  wooden  brogues,  with  a  noise 
like  the  trampling  of  a  dray-horse. 

'"She  has  gone  to  ho  master,  with  ho's  name  in  her 
mouth.''  said  another.  "Shame  the  country  should  be 
harried  wi'  Scotch  witches  and  Scotch  bitches  this  gate — 
but  I  say  hang  and  drown." 

"Ay,  ay.  Gaffer  Tramp,  take  awa  yealdon,  take  awa  low 
— hang  the  witch,  and  there  will  be  less  scathe  amang  us; 
mine  owsen  hae  been  reckan  this  towmont." 

"And  mine  bairns  hae  been  crining  too,  mon,"  replied 
his  neighbor. 

"Silence  wi'  your  fule  tongues,  ye  churls,"  said  an  old 
woman,  who  hobbled  past  them,  as  they  stood  talking  near 
the  carriage;  "this  was  nae  witch,  but  a  bluidy-fingered 
thief  and  murderess." 

"Ay?  was  it  e'en  sae,  Dame  Hinchup?"  said  one  in  a 
civil  tone,  and  stepping  out  of  his  place  to  let  the  old 
woman  pass  along  the  footpath — "Nay,  you  know  best, 
sure — but  at  ony  rate,  we  hae  but  tint  a  Scot  of  her,  and 
that's  a  thing  better  lost  than  found." 

The  old  woman  passed  on  without  making  any  answer. 

"Ay,  ay,  neighbor,"  said  (jatfer  Tramp,  "seest  thou  how 
Dne  witch  will  speak  for  t'other — Scots  or  English,  the 
same  to  them." 

His  companion  shook  his  head,  and  replied  in  the  same 
subdued  tone,  "Ay,  ay,  when  a  Sark-foot  wife  gets  on  her 
broomstick,  the  dames  of  Allonby  are  ready  to  mount,  just 
as  sure  as  the  by-word  gangs  o'  the  hills, 

"If  Skiddaw  hatli  a  cap, 
Criffel  wot's  full  wecl   of  that." 


468  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

''But,"  continued  Gaffer  Tramp,  "thinkest  thou  the 
daughter  o'  yon  hangit  body  isna  as  rank  a  witch  as  ho?" 

"I  kenna  clearly,"  returned  the  fellow,  "but  the  folk 
are  speaking  o'  swimming  her  i'  the  Eden."  And  they 
passed  on  their  several  roads,  after  wishing  each  other 
good  morning. 

Just  as  the  clowns  left  the  place,  and  as  Mr.  Archibald 
returned  with  some  fair  water,  a  crowd  of  boys  and  girls, 
and  some  of  the  lower  rabble  of  more  mature  age,  came 
up  from  the  place  of  execution,  grouping  themselves  with 
many  a  yell  of  delight  around  a  tall  female  fantastically 
dressed,  who  was  dancing,  leaping,  and  bounding  in  the 
midst  of  them.  A  horrible  recollection  pressed  on  Jeanie 
as  she  looked  on  this  unfortunate  creature;  and  the  rem- 
iniscence was  mutual,  for  by  a  sudden  exertion  of  great 
strength  and  agility,  Madge  Wildfire  broke  out  of  the 
noisy  circle  of  tormentors  who  surrounded  her,  and  cling- 
ing fast  to  the  door  of  the  calash,  uttered,  in  a  sound  be- 
twixt laughter  and  screaming,  "Eh,  d'ye  ken,  Jeanie 
Deans,  they  hae  hangit  our  mother?"  Then  suddenly 
changing  her  tone  to  that  of  the  most  piteous  entreaty, 
she  added,  "Oh,  gar  them  let  me  gang  to  cut  her  down ! — 
let  me  but  cut  her  down! — she  is  my  mother,  if  she  was 
waur  than  the  deil,  and  she'll  be  nae  mair  kenspeckle  than 
half-hangit  Maggie  Dickson,  that  cried  saut  mony  a  day 
after  she  had  been  hangit ;  her  voice  was  roupit  and  hoarse, 
and  her  neck  was  a  wee  agee,  or  ye  wad  hae  kend  nae  odds 
on  her  frae  ony  other  saut-wife." 

Mr.  Archibald,  embarrassed  by  the  madwoman's  cling- 
ing to  the  carriage,  and  detaining  around  them  her  noisy 
and  mischievous  attendants,  was  all  this  while  looking 
out  for  a  constable  or  beadle,  to  whom  he  might  commit 
the  unfortunate  creature.  But  seeing  no  such  person  of 
authority,  he  endeavored  to  loosen  her  hold  from  the  car- 
riage, that  they  might  escape  from  her  by  driving  on. 
This,  however,  could  hardly  be  achieved  without  some 
degree  of  violence;  Madge  held  fast,  and  renewed  her 
frantic  entreaties  to  be  permitted  to  cut  down  her  mother. 
"It  was  but  a  tenpenny  tow  lost,"  she  said,  "and  what 
was  that  to  a  woman's  life?"  There  came  up,  however,  a 
parcel  of  savage-looking  fellows,  butchers  and  graziers 
chiefly,  among  whose  cattle  there  had  been  of  late  a  very 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  469 

general  and  fatal  distemper,  which  their  wisdom  imputed 
to  witchcraft.  They  laid  violent  hands  on  Madge,  and 
tore  her  from  the  carriage,  exclaiming — "What,  doest 
stop  folk  o'  king's  highway?  Hast  no  done  mischief  enow 
already,  wi'  thy  murders  and  thy  witcherings?" 

''O  Jeanie  Deans — Jeanie  Deans!"  exclaimed  the  poor 
maniac,  "save  my  mother,  and  I  will  take  ye  to  the  Inter- 
preter's house  again, — and  I  will  teach  ye  a'  my  bonny 

s^ngs, — and  I  will  tell  ye  what  came  o'  the "     The 

rest  of  her  entreaties  were  drowned  in  the  shouts  of  the 
rabble. 

"Save  her,  for  God's  sake ! — save  her  from  those  people !" 
exclaimed  Jeanie  to  Archibald. 

"She  is  mad,  but  quite  innocent;  she  is  mad,  gentle- 
men," said  Archibald;  "do  not  use  her  ill,  take  her  before 
the  Mayor." 

"Ay,  ay,  we'se  hae  care  enow  on  her,"  answered  one  of 
the  fellows;  "gang  thou  thy  gate,  man,  and  mind  thine 
own   matters." 

"He's  a  Scot  by  his  tongue,"  said  another;  "and  an  he 
will  come  out  o'  his  whirligig  there,  I'se  gie  him  his 
tartan  plaid  fu'  o'  broken  banes." 

It  was  clear  nothing  could  be  done  to  rescue  Madge; 
and  Archibald,  who  was  a  man  of  humanity,  could  only 
bid  the  postilions  hurry  on  to  Carlisle,  that  he  might  ob- 
tain some  assistance  to  the  unfortunate  woman.  As  they 
drove  off,  they  heard  the  hoarse  roar  with  which  the  mob 
preface  acts  of  riot  or  cruelty,  yet  even  above  that  deep 
and  dire  note,  they  could  discern  the  screams  of  the  unfor- 
tunate victim.  They  were  soon  out  of  hearing  of  the 
cries,  but  had  no  sooner  entered  the  streets  of  Carlisle, 
than  Archibald,  at  Jeanie's  earnest  and  urgent  entreaty, 
went  to  a  magistrate,  to  state  the  cruelty  which  was  likely 
to  be  exercised  on  this  unhappy  creature. 

In  about  an  hour  and  a  half  he  returned,  and  reported 
to  Jeanie  that  the  magistrate  had  very  readily  gone  in 
jterson,  with  some  assistants,  to  the  rescue  of  the  un- 
fortunate woman,  and  that  he  had  himself  accompanied 
him;  that  when  they  came  to  the  muddy  pool,  in  which 
the  mob  were  ducking  her,  according  to  their  favorite 
mode  of  punishment,  the  magistrate  succeeded  in  rescu- 
ing her  from  their  hands,  but  in  a  state  of  insensibility. 


470  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

owing  to  the  cruel  treatment  which  she  had  received.  He 
added,  that  he  had  seen  her  carried  to  the  workhouse, 
and  understood  that  she  had  been  brought  to  herself,  and 
was  expected  to  do  well. 

This  last  averment  was  a  slight  alteration  in  point  of 
fact,  for  Madge  Wildfire  was  not  expected  to  survive  the 
treatment  she  had  received;  but  Jeanie  seemed  so  much 
agitated,  that  Mr.  Archibald  did  not  think  it  prudent 
to  tell  her  the  worst  at  once.  Indeed,  she  appeared  so 
fluttered  and  disordered  by  this  alarming  accident,  that, 
although  it  had  been  their  intention  to  proceed  to  Long- 
town  that  evening,  her  companions  judged  it  most  ad- 
visable to  pass  the  night  at  Carlisle. 

This  was  particularly  agreeable  to  Jeanie,  who  resolved, 
if  possible,  to  procure  an  inter\'iew  with  Madge  Wildfire. 
Connecting  some  of  her  wild  flights  with  the  narrative  of 
George  Staunton,  she  was  unwilling  to  omit  the  oppor- 
tunity of  extracting  from  her,  if  possible,  some  informa- 
tion concerning  the  fate  of  that  unfortunate  infant  which 
had  cost  her  sister  so  dear.  Her  acquaintance  with  the 
disordered  state  of  poor  Madge's  mind  did  not  permit  her 
to  cherish  much  hope  that  she  could  acquire  from  her 
any  useful  intelligence;  but  then,  since  Madge's  mother 
had  suffered  her  deserts,  and  was  silent  forever,  it  was  her 
only  chance  of  obtaining  any  kind  of  information,  and  she 
was  loath  to  lose  the  opportunity. 

She  colored  her  wish  to  Mr.  Archibald  by  saying,  that 
she  had  seen  Madge  formerly,  and  wished  to  know,  as  a 
matter  of  humanity,  how  she  was  attended  to  under  her 
present  misfortunes.  That  complaisant  person  immedi- 
ately went  to  the  workhouse,  or  hospital,  in  which  he  had 
seen  the  sufferer  lodged,  and  brought  back  for  reply,  that 
the  medical  attendants  positively  forbade  her  seeing  any 
one.  When  the  application  for  admittance  was  repeated 
next  day,  Mr.  Archibald  was  informed  that  she  had  been 
very  quiet  and  composed,  insomuch  that  the  clergyman, 
who  acted  as  chaplain  to  the  establishment,  thought  it 
expedient  to  read  prayers  beside  her  bed,  but  that  her 
wandering  fit  of  mind  had  returned  soon  after  his  de- 
parture; however,  her  countrywoman  might  see  her  if  she 
chose  it.  She  was  not  expected  to  live  above  an  hour  or 
two. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  471 

Jeanie  had  no  sooner  received  this  information,  than 
he  hastened  to  the  hospital,  her  companions  attending 
ler.  They  found  the  dyin^  person  in  a  large  ward,  where 
here  were  ten  beds,  of  which  the  patient's  was  the  only 
>ne  occupied. 

^fadge  was  singing  when  they  entered — singing  her  own 
vild  snatches  of  songs  and  obsolete  airs,  with  a  voice 
lo  longer  overstrained  by  false  spirits,  but  softened,  sad- 
lened.  and  subdued  by  bodily  exhaustion.  She  was  still 
nsane,  but  was  no  longer  able  to  express  her  wandering 
deas  in  the  wild  notes  of  her  former  state  of  exalted 
magination.  There  was  death  in  the  plaintive  tones  of 
ler  voice,  which  yet,  in  this  moderated  and  melancholy 
nood,  had  something  of  the  lulling  sound  with  which  a 
nother  sings  her  infant  asleep.  As  Jeanie  entered,  she 
leard  first  the  air,  and  then  a  part  of  the  chorus  and 
vords,  of  what  had  been,  perhaps,  the  song  of  a  jolly 
larvest-home : 

"Our  work  is  over — over  now, 
The  goodman  wipes  his  weary  brow. 
The  last  long  wain  wends  slow  away, 
And  we  are  free  to  sport  and  play. 

The  nipht  comes  on  when  sets  the  sun, 
And  labor  ends  wlien  day  is  done. 
When  Autumn's  gone  and  .Winter's  come. 
We  hold  our  jovial  harvest-home." 

Jeanie  advanced  to  the  bed-side  when  the  strain  was 
inished,  and  addressed  Madge  by  her  name.  But  it  pro- 
luced  no  symptoms  of  recollection.  On  the  contrary,  the 
)atient,  like  one  provoked  by  interruption,  changed  her 
)osture,  and  called  out,  with  an  impatient  tone,  "Nurse — 
lurse,  turn  my  face  to  the  wa',  that  I  may  never  answer 
o  that  name  onv  mair,  and  never  see  mair  of  a  WMcked 
vorld." 

The  attendant  on  the  hospital  arranged  her  in  her  bed 
IS  she  desired,  with  her  fare  to  the  wall,  and  her  back  to 
he  light.  So  soon  as  she  was  quiet  in  this  new  position, 
ihe  began  again  to  sing  in  the  same  low  and  modulated 
itrains,  as  if  she  was  recovering  the  state  of  .abstraction 
vhich   the   interruption   of   her   visitants    had    disturbed. 


472  THE   HEAKT   OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

The  strain,  however,  was  different,  and  rather  resembled 
the  music  of  the  Methodist  hymns,  though  the  measure 
of  the  song  was  similar  to  that  of  the  former: 

"When  the  fight*  of  grace  is  fought, — 
*    When  the  marriage  .vest  is  wrought, — 
When  Faith  hath  chased  cold  Doubt  away, 
And  Hope  but  sickens  at  delay, — 

W^hen   Charity,   imprisoned  here. 
Longs  for  a  more  expanded  sphere, 
Doff  thy  robes  of  sin  and  clay; 
Christian,  rise,  and  come  away." 

The  strain  was  solemn  and  affecting,  sustained  as  it  was 
by  the  pathetic  warble  of  a  voice  which  had  naturally  been 
a  fine  one,  and  which  weakness,  if  it  diminished  its  power, 
had  improved  in  softness.  Archibald,  though  a  follower 
of  the  court,  and  a  poco-curante  by  profession,  was  con- 
fused, if  not  affected ;  the  dairymaid  blubbered ;  and 
Jeanie  felt  the  tears  rise  spontaneously  to  her  eyes.  Even  „• 
the  nurse,  accustomed  to  all  modes  in  which  the  spirit  I 
can  pass,  seemed  considerably  moved.  ] 

The  patient  was  evidently  growing  weaker,  as  was  in-  j 
timated  by  an  apparent  difficulty  of  breathing,  which  ■ 
seized  her  from  time  to  time,  and  by  the  utterance  of  low  i 
listless  moans,  intimating  that  nature  was  succumbing  in  | 
the  last  conflict.  But  the  spirit  of  melody,  which  must  | 
originally  have  so  strongly  possessed  this  unfortunate  | 
5^oung  woman,  seemed,  at  every  interval  of  ease,  to  i 
triumph  over  her  pain  and  weakness.  And  it  was  re- 
markable, that  there  could  always  be  traced  in  her  songs 
something  appropriate,  though  perhaps  only  obliquely  or 
collaterally  so,  to  her  present  situation.  Her  next  seemed 
to  be  the  fragment  of  some  old  ballad: 

"Cauld  is  my  bed,  Lord  Archibald, 
And  sad  my  sleep  of  sorrow; 
But  thine  sail  be  as.  sad  and  cauld. 
My  fause  true-love!  to-morrow. 

And  weep  ye  not,  my  maidens  free, 
Though  death  your  mistress  borrow; 

For  he  for  whom  I  die  to-day, 
Shall  die  for  me  to-morrow." 


THE    HEART    OF    MIDLOTHIAN  473 

Again  she  changed  the  tune  to  one  wilder,  less  monoto- 
lous,  and  less  regular.  But  of  the  words  only  a  fragment 
>r  two  could  be  collected  by  those  who  listened  to  this 
lingular  scene: 

"Proud  Maizie  is  in  tlie  wood, 
Walking  so  early; 
Sweet  Robin  sits  on  the  bush, 
Singing  so  rarely. 

*Tell  me,  thou  bonny  bird, 

Wlien  sliall  I  marry  me?* 
'When   six   braw   gentlemen 

Kirkward  shall  carry  ye.' 

*Who  makes  the  bridal  bed, 

Birdie,  say  truly?' — 
'The  gray-headed  sexton. 

That  delves  the  grave  duly.' 

*The  glow-worm  o'er  grave  and  stone 

Shall  light  thee  steady: 
The  owl  from  the  steeple  sing, 
'Welcome,  proud  lady.' " 

Her  voice  died  away  with  the  last  notes  and  she  fell 
nto  a  slumber,  from  which  the  experienced  attendant 
issured  them,  that  she  never  would  awake  at  all,  or  only 
n  the  death  agony. 

The  nurse's  prophecy  proved  true.  The  poor  maniac 
)arted  with  existence,  without  again  uttering  a  sound  of 
iny  kind.  But  our  travellers  did  not  witness  this  catas- 
rophe.  They  left  the  hospital  as  soon  as  Jeanie  had 
;atisfied  herself  that  no  elucidation  of  her  sister's  mis- 
'ortunes  was  to  be  hoped  from  the  dying  person."'^ 

♦  Note  XlV.— Madge  Wildfire. 


474  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTER    XLI  ' 

Wilt  thou  go  on  with  me?  ■ 

Th<t  moon   is   bright,   the   sea   is  calm,  , 

And  I  know  well  the  ocean  paths  ...  I 

Thou  wilt  go  on  with   me!  ] 

Thalaba.  i 

The  fatigue  and  agitation   of  these  various  scenes  had  : 

agitated    Jeanie    so    much,    notwithstanding    her    robust  ' 

strength  of  constitution,  that  Archibald  judged  it  neces-  : 

sary  that  she  should  have  a  day's  repose  at  the  village  ; 

of  Longtown.    It  was  in  vain  that  Jeanie  herself  protested  ' 

against  any  delay.     The  Duke  of  Argyle's  man  of  confi-  ^ 

dence  was  of  course  consequential;   and  as  he  had  been  J 
bred  to  the  medical  profession  in  his  youth   (at  least  he 

used  this  expression  to  describe  his  having,  thirty  years  '< 

before,    pounded    for   six    months    in   the   mortar    of    old  ; 

Mungo   Mangleman,  the   surgeon   at   Greenock),   he   was  ; 

obstinate  whenever  a  matter  of  health  was  in  question.  '■■ 

In  this  case  he  discovered  febrile  symptoms,  and  having 

once  made  a  happy  application  of  that  learned  phrase  -to  ' 

Jeanie's  case,  all  farther  resistance  became  in  vain;  and  * 

she  was  glad  to  acquiesce,  and  even  to  go  to  bed,  and  \ 

drink   water-gruel,   in   order  that   she   might  possess   her  | 

soul  in  quiet,  and  without  interruption.  i 

Mr.  Archibald  was  equally  attentive  in  another  particu-  ; 

lar.     He  observed  that  the  execution  of  the  old  woman,  ; 

and  the  miserable  fate  of  her  daughter,  seemed  to  have  j 

had  a  more  powerful  effect  upon  Jeanie's  mind,  than  the  \ 

usual  feelings  of  humanity  might  naturally  have  been  ex-  • 

pected    to    occasion.      Yet    she   was    obviously    a    strong-  ; 

minded,  sensible  young  woman,  and  m  no  respect  subject  ' 

to    nervous    affections;    and    therefore    Archibald,    being  i 

ignorant  of  any  special  connection  between  his  master's  i 

protegee   and   these   unfortunate   persons,   excepting   that  i 

she  had  seen  Madge  formerly  in  Scotland,  naturally  im-  j 

puted  the  strong  impression  these  events  had  made  upon  | 

her,   to  her  associating  them  with  the  unhappy  circum-  i 

stances  in  which  her  sister  had  so  lately  stood.     He  be-  ■ 

came   anxious,   therefore,   to   prevent   anything   occurring  ; 

which  might  recall  these  associations  to  Jeanie's  mind.  I 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHTAX  475 

Archibald  had  speedily  an  opportunity  of  exercising- 
his  precaution.  A  pedlar  broup-ht  to  Lonj?tovvn  that 
\-ening,  anionpst  other  wares,  a  large  broadside  sheet, 
fivingr  an  account  of  the  "Last  Speech  and  Execution 
if  Margaret  Murdockson,  and  of  the  barbarous  Murder  of 
icr  Daughter.  Magdalene  or  Madge  Murdockson,  called 
kfadge  Wildtire;  and  of  her  pious  Conversation  with  his 
Reverence  Arch-deacon  Fleming;"  which  authentic  pub- 
ication  had  apparently  taken  place  on  the  day  they  left 
Carlisle,  and  being  an  article  of  a  nature  peculiarly  ae- 
eptable  to  such  country-folk  as  were  within  hearing  of 
he  transaction,  the  itinerant  bibliopolist  had  forthwith  V 
dded  them  to  his  stock  in  trade.  He  found  a  merchant 
ooner  than  he  expected;  for  Archibald,  much  applauding* 
lis  own  prudence,  purchased  the  whole  lot  for  two  shil- 
ings  and  ninepence;  and  the  pedlar,  delighted  with  the 
irofit  of  such  a  wholesale  transaction,  instantly  returned 
0  Carlisle  to  supply  himself  with  more. 

The  considerate  Mr.  Archibald  was  about  to  commit  his 
rhole  purchase  to  the  flames,  but  it  was  rescued  by  the 
et  more  considerate  dairy-damsel,  who  said,  very  pru- 
lently,  it  was  a  pity  to  waste  so  much  paper,  which  might 
rope  hair,  pin  up  bonnets,  and  serve  many  other  useful 
(urposes;  and  who  promised  to  put  the  parcel  into  her 
wn  trunk,  and  keep  it  carefully  out  of  the  sight  of  Mrs. 
eanie  Deans:  "Though,  by-the-bye,  she  had  no  great 
lotion  of  folk  being  so  very  nice.  ^Irs.  Deans  might  have 
lad  enough  to  think  about  the  gallows  all  this  time  to 
ndure  a  sight  of  it,  without  all  this  to  do  about  it." 

Archibald  reminded  the  dame  of  the  dairy  of  the 
)uke's  very  particular  charge,  that  they  should  be  atten- 
ive  and  civil  to  Jeanie;  as  also  that  they  were  to  part 
ompany  soon,  and  consequently  would  not  be  doomed 
o  observing  any  one's  health  or  temper  during  the  rest 
f  the  journey:  With  which  answer  Mrs.  Dolly  Dutton 
ms  obliged  to  hold  herself  satisfied. 

On  the  morning  they  resumed  their  journey,  and  prose- 
uted  it  successfully,  travelling  through  Dumfriesshire 
nd  part  of  Lanarkshire,  until  they  arrived  at  the  small 
own  of  Ruthergl(Mi,  within  about  four  miles  of  (llasgow. 
lere  an  express  brought  letters  to  Archibald  from  the 
trincipal  agent  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle  in  Edinburgh. 


476  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

He  said  nothing  of  their  contents  that  evening;  but 
when  they  were  seated  in  the  carriage  the  next  day,  the 
faithful  squire  informed  Jeanie,  that  he  had  received 
directions  from  the  Duke's  factor,  to  whom  his  Grace  had 
recommended  him  to  carry  her,  if  she  had  no  objection, 
for  a  stage  or  two  beyond  Glasgow.  ,  Some  temporary 
causes  of  discontent  had  occasioned  tumults  in  that  city 
and  the  neighborhood,  which  would  render  it  unadvisable 
for  Mrs.  Jeanie  Deans  to  travel  alone  and  unprotected 
betwixt  that  city  and  Edinburgh;  whereas,  by  going  for- 
ward a  little  farther,  they  would  meet  one  of  his  Grace's 
eubfactors,  who  was  coming  down  from  the  Highlands  to 
Edinburgh  with  his  wife,  and  under  whose  charge  she 
might  journey  with  comfort  and  in  safety. 

Jeanie  remonstrated  against  this  arrangement.  "She 
had  been  lang,"  she  said,  "frae  hame — her  father  and  her 
sister  behoved  to  be  very  anxious  to  see  her — there  were 
other  friends  she  had  that  werena  weel  in  health.  She 
was  willing  to  pay  for  man  and  horse  at  Glasgow,  and 
surely  naebody  wad  meddle  wi'  sae  harmless  and  feckless 
a  creature  as  she  was. — She  was  muckle  obliged  by  the 
offer;  but  never  hunted  deer  langed  for  its  resting-place 
as  I  do  to  find  myself  at  Saint  Leonard's." 

The  groom  of  the  chambers  exchanged  a  look  with  his 
female  companion,  which  seemed  so  full  of  meaning,  that 
Jeanie  screamed  aloud — "O  Mr.  Archibald — Mrs.  Dutton, 
if  ye  ken  of  onything  that  has  happened  at  Saint  Leon- 
ard's, for  God's  sake — for  pity's  sake,  tell  me,  and  dinna 
keep  me  in  suspense !" 

"I  really  know  nothing,  Mrs.  Deans,"  said  the  groom 
of  the  chamber. 

'"And  I — I — I  am  sure,  I  knows  as  little,"  said  the 
dame  of  the  dairy,  while  some  communication  seemed  to 
tremble  on  her  lips,  which,  at  a  glance  of  Archibald's 
eye,  she  appeared  to  swallow  down,  and  compressed  her 
lips  thereafter  into  a  state  of  extreme  and  vigilant  firm- 
ness, as  if  she  had  been  afraid  of  its  bolting  out  before 
she  was  aware. 

Jeanie  saw  that  there  was  to  be  something  concealed 
from  her,  and  it  was  only  the  repeated  assurances  of 
Archibald  that  her  father — her  sister — all  her  friends 
were,  as  far  as  he  knew,  well  and  happy,  that  at  all  paci- 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  477 

ed  her  alarm.  From  such  respectable  people  as  those 
rith  whom  she  travelled  she  could  apprehend  no  harm, 
nd  yet  her  distress  was  so  obvious,  that  Archibald,  as  a 
1st  resource,  pulled  out,  and  put  into  her  hand,  a  slip 
f  paper,  on  which  these  words  were  written : — 

"Jeaxie  Deans  : — You  will  do  me  a  favor  by  going  with 
irchibald  and  my  female  domestic  a  day's  journey  be- 
ftnd  (ilasgow,  and  asking  them  no  questions,  which  will 
reatly  oblige  your  friend,  Argyle  and  Greenwich/' 

Although  this  laconic  epistle,  from  a  nobleman  to  whom 
he  was  bound  by  such  inestimable  obligations,  silenced 
11  Jeanie's  objections  to  the  proposed  route,  it  rather 
dded  to  than  diminished  the  eagerness  of  her  curiosity, 
'he  proceeding  to  Glasgow  seemed  now  no  longer  to  be 
n  object  with  her  fellow-travellers.  On  the  contrary, 
bey  kept  the  left-hand  side  of  the  river  Clyde,  and 
ravelled  through  a  thousand  beautiful  and  changing 
iews  down  the  side  of  that  noble  stream,  till,  ceasing  to 
old  its  inland  character,  it  began  to  assume  that  of  a 
avigable  river. 

'"You  are  not  for  gaun  intill  Glasgow  then?"  said 
eanie,  as  she  obser^-ed  that  the  drivers  made  no  motion 
or  inclining  their  horses'  heads  toward  .the  ancient 
ridge,  which  was  then  the  only  mode  of  access  to  St. 
lungo's  capital. 

"Xo,"  replied  Archibald;  "there  is  some  popular  com- 
lotion,  and  as  our  Duke  is  in  opposition  to  the  court, 
erhaps  we  might  be  too  well  received;  or  they  might  take 
.  in  their  heads  to  remember  that  the  Captain  of  Carrick 
ame  down  upon  them  with  his  Highlandmen  in  the  time 
f  Shawficld's  mob  in  1"25,  and  then  we  would  be  too  ill 
.'ceived."^  And,  at  any  rate,  it  is  best  for  us,  and  for  me 
1  particular,  who  may  be  supposed  to  possess  his  Grace^s 
lind  upon  many  particulars,  to  leave  the  good  people  of 

• 

•  In  1725,  there  was  a  great  riot  in  Glasgow  on  account  of  the  malt- 
X.  Among  the  troojiS  hrought  in  to  restore  orrler,  was  one  of  the 
<lei»en<Itnt  companies  of  Highlanders  levied  in  Argyleshirc,  and  dis- 
ngiiishcd,  in  a  lampoon  of  the  period,  as  "Campbell  of  Carrick  and  his 
ighland  thieves."  It  was  called  .Shawficld's  Moh,  because  much  of  the 
)pulnr  violence  was  directed  against  Daniel  Campbell,  Esq.,  of  Shaw- 
Id,   M.P.,  Provost  of  the  town. 


478  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

the  Gorbals  to  act  according  to  their  own  imaginations, 
without  either  provoking  or  encouraging  them  by  my 
presence." 

To  reasoning  of  such  tone  and  consequence  Jeanie  had 
nothing  to  reply,  although  it  seemed  to  her  to  contain 
fully  as  much  self-importance  as  truth. 

The  carriage  meantime  rolled  on;  the  river  expanded 
itself,  and  gradually  assumed  the  dignity  of  an  estuary, 
or  arm  of  the  sea.  The  influence  of  the  advancing  and 
retiring  tides  became  more  and  more  evident,  and  in  the 
beautiful  words  of  him  of  the  laurel  wreath,  the  river 
waxed 

"A  broader  and  a  broader  stream. 

The  cormorant  stands  upon  its  shoals, 
His  black  and  dripping  wings 
Half  open'd  to  the  wind." 

"Which  way  lies  Inverary?"  said  Jeanie,  gazing  on  the 
dusky  ocean  of  Highland  hills,  which  now,  piled  above 
each  other,  and  intersected  by  many  a  lake,  stretched  away 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  to  the  northward.  'Ts 
yon  high  castle  the  Duke's  hoose?" 

"That,  Mrs.  Deans? — Lud  help  thee,"  replied  Archibald, 
^'that's  the  old  Castle  of  Dumbarton,  the  strongest  place  in 
^Europe,  be  the  other  what  it  may.  Sir  William  Wallace 
■was  governor  of  it  in  the  old  wars  with  the  English,  and 
his  Grace  is  governor  just  now.  It  is  always  entrusted 
to  the  best  man  in  Scotland." 

"And  does  the  Duke  live  on  that  high  rock,  then?" 
demanded  Jeanie. 

"No,  no,  he  has  his  deputy-governor,  who  commands  in 
his  absence;  he  lives  in  the  white  house  you  see  at  the 
bottom  of  the  rock — His  Grace  does  not  reside  there 
himself." 

"I  think  not,  indeed,"  said  the  dairy-woman,  upon 
whose  mind  the  road,  since  they  had  left  Dumfries,  had 
made  no  very  favorable  impression;  "for  if  he  did,  he 
might  go  whistle  for  a  dairy-woman,  an  he  were  the  only 
duke  in  England.  I  did  not  leave  my  place  and  my 
friends  to  come  down  to  see  cows  starve,  to  death  upon 
hills  as  they  be  at  that  pig-stye  of  Elfinfoot,  as  you  call 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  479 

it,  Mr.  Archibald,  or  to  be  perched  up  on  the  top  of  a  rock, 
like  a  squirrel  in  his  cage,  hung  out  of  a  three  pair  of 
stairs  window.'' 

Inwardly  chuckling  that  these  symptoms  of  recalcitra- 
tion  had  not  taken  place  until  the  fair  malcontent  was, 
as  he  mentally  termed  it,  under  his  thumb,  Archibald 
coolly  replied,  "that  the  hills  were  none  of  his  making, 
nor  did  he  know  how  to  mend  them;  but  as  to  lodging, 
they  would  soon  be  in  a  house  of  the  Duke's  in  a  very 
pleasant  island  called  Roseneath,  where  they  went  to 
wait  for  shipping  to  take  them  to  Inverary,  and  would 
meet  the  company  with  whom  Jeanie  was  to  return  to 
Edinburgh." 

"An  island?"  said  Jeanie,  who,  in  the  course  of  her 
various  and  adventurous  travels,  had  never  quitted  terra 
tirma,  "then  I  am  doubting  we  maun  gang  in  ane  of  these 
boats;  they  look  unco  sma',  and  the  waves  are  something 
rough,  and " 

"Mr.  Archibald,"  said  Mrs.  Dutton,  "I  will  not  con- 
sent to  it ;  I  was  never  engaged  to  leave  the  country,  and 
I  desire  you  will  bid  the  boys  drive  round  the  other  way 
to  the  Duke's  house." 

"There  is  a  safe  pinnace  belonging  to  his  Grace,  ma'am, 
close  by,"  replied  Archibald,  "and  you  need  be  under  no 
apprehensions  whatsoever." 

"But  I  am  under  apprehensions,"  said  the  damsel;  "and 
I  insist  upon  going  round  by  land,  Mr.  Archibald,  were  it 
ten  miles  about." 

"I  am  sorry  I  cannot  oblige  you,  madam,  as  Roseneath 
happens  to  be  an  island." 

"If  it  were  ten  islands,"  said  the  incensed  dame,  "that's 
no  reason  why  I  should  be  drowned  in  going  over  the  seas 
to  it." 

"Xo  reason  why  you  should  be  drowned,  certainly, 
ma'am,"  answered,  the  immoved  groom  of  the  chambers, 
"but  an  admirable  good  one  why  you  cannot  i)roceed  to  it 
by  land."  And,  fixed  his  master's  mandates  to  perform, 
he  pointed  with  his  hand,  and  the  drivers,  turning  off 
the  high-road,  proceeded  toward  a  small  hamlet  of  fishing 
huts,  where  a  shallop,  somewhat  more  gaily  decorated 
than  any  which  they  had  yet  seen,  having  a  flag  whieh 
displayed    a   boar's-hcad,    crested    with    a    ducal    coronet, 


480  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

waited  with  two  or  three  seamen,  and  as  many  Highlanders. 

The  carriage  stopped,  and  the  men  began  to  unyoke 
their  horses,  while  Mr.  Archibald  gravely  superintended 
the  removal  of  the  baggage  from  the  carriage  to  the  little 
vessel.  "Has  the  Caroline  been  long  arrived?"  said  Archi- 
bald to  one  of  the  seamen. 

"She  has  been  here  in  five  days  from  Liverpool,  and 
she's  lying  down  at  Greenock,"  answered  the  fellow. 

"Let  the  horses  and  carriage  go  down  to  Greenock 
then,"  said  Archibald,  "and  be  embarked  there  for  In- 
verary  when  I  send  notice — they  may  stand  in  my  cousin's, 
Duncan  Archibald  the  stabler's. — Ladies,"  he  added,  "I 
hope  you  will  get  yourselves  ready,  we  must  not  lose  the 
tide." 

"Mrs.  Deans,"  said  the  Cowslip  of  Inverary,  "jou  may 
do  as  you  please — but  I  will  sit  here  all  night,  rather  than 
go  into  that  there  painted  egg-shell. — Fellow — fellow!" 
(this  was  addressed  to  a  Highlander  who  was  lifting  a 
travelling  trunk)  "that  trunk  is  mine,  and  that  there  band- 
box, and  that  pillion  mail,  and  those  seven  bundles,  and 
the  paper  bag;  and  if  you  venture  to  touch  one  of  them, 
it  shall  be  at  your  peril." 

The  Celt  kept  his  eye  fixed  on  the  speaker,  then  turned 
his  head  toward  xlrchibald,  and  receiving  no  countervail- 
ing signal,  he  shouldered  the  portmanteau,  and  without 
farther  notice  of  the  distressed  damsel,  or  paying  any 
attention  to  remonstrances,  which  probably  he  did  not 
understand,  and  would  certainly  have  equally  disregarded 
whether  he  understood  them  or  not,  moved  off  with  Mrs. 
Dutton's  wearables,  and  deposited  the  trunk  containing 
them  safely  in  the  boat. 

The  baggage  being  stowed  in  safety,  Mr.  Archibald 
handed  Jeanie  out  of  the  carriage,  and,  not  without  some 
tremor  on  her  part,  she  was  transported  through  the  surf 
and  placed  in  the  boat.  He  then  offered  the  same  civility 
to  his  fellow-servant,  but  she  was  resolute  in  her  refusal 
to  quit  the  carriage,  in  which  she  now  remained  in  soli- 
tary state,  threatening  all  concerned  or  unconcerned  with 
actions  for  wages  and  board-wages,  damages,  and  ex- 
penses, and  numbering  on  her  fingers  the  gowns  and  other 
habiliments,  from  which  she  seemed  in  the  act  of  being 
separated  forever.     Mr.   Archibald  did  not   give  himself 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTIIIAX  481 

the  trouble  of  makinur  many  remonstranoes,  which,  indeed, 
seemed  only  to  aggravate  the  damsel's  indignation,  but 
spoke  two  or  three  words  to  the  Highlanders  in  Gaelic; 
and  the  wily  mountaineers,  approaching  the  carriage 
cautiously,  and  without  giving  the  slightest  intimation 
of  their  intention,  at  once  seized  the  recusant  so  effectu- 
ally fast  that  she  could  neither  resist  nor  struggle,  and 
hoisting  her  on  their  shoulders  in  nearly  a  horizontal 
posture,  rushed  down  with  her  to  the  beach,  and  through 
the  surf,  and,  with  no  other  inconvenience  than  ruffing 
her  garments  a  little,  deposited  her  in  the  boat;  but  in  a 
state  of  surprise,  mortification,  and  terror,  at  her  sudden 
transportation,  which  rendered  her  absolutely  mute  for 
two  or  three  minutes.  The  men  jumped  in  themselves; 
one  tall  fellow  remained  till  he  had  pushed  off  the  boat, 
and  then  tumbled  in  upon  his  companions.  They  took 
their  oars  and  began  to  pull  from  the  shore,  then  spread 
their  sail,  and  drove  merrily  across  the  firth. 

"You  Scotch  villain!"  said  the  infuriated  damsel  to 
Archibald,  "how  dare  you  use  a  person  like  me  in  this 
way  ?" 

"Madam,"  said  Archibald,  with  infinite  composure,  "it's 
high  time  you  should  know  you  are  in  the  Duke's  country, 
and  that  there  is  not  one  of  these  fellows  but  would 
throw  you  out  of  the  boat  as  readily  as  into  it,  if  such 
were  his  Grace's  pleasure." 

"Then  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  me !"  said  Mrs.  Dutton. 
"If  I  had  had  any  on  myself,  I  would  never  have  engaged 
with  you." 

"It's  something  of  the  latest  to  think  of  that  now,  Mrs. 
Dutton,''  said  Archibald;  "but  I  assure  you,  you  will  find 
the  Highlands  have  their  pleasures.  You  will  have  a 
dozen  of  cow-milkers  under  your  own  authority  at  In- 
verary,  and  you  may  throw  any  of  them  into  the  lake,  if 
you  have  a  mind,  for  the  Duke's  head  people  are  almost 
as  great  as  himself." 

"This  is  a  strange  business,  to  be  sure,  Mr.  Archibald," 
said  the  lady;  "but  I  suiij)ose  T  must  make  the  best  on't. — 
Are  you  sure  the  boat  will  not  sink?  it  lean>  terribly  to 
one  side,  in  my  poor  mind." 

"Fear  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Archibald,  taking  a  most  im- 
portant pinch  of  snuif;  "this  same  ferry  on  Clyde  knows 


482  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  , 

i 

US  very  well,  or  we  know  it,  which  is  all  the  same;  no  fear  i 

of  any  of  our  people  meeting  with   any   accident.     We  ; 

should  have  crossed  from  the  opposite  shore,  but  for  the  \ 

disturbances  at  Glasgow,  which  made  it  improper  for  his  j 

Grace's  people  to  pass  through  the  city."  j 

"Are   you   not    afeard,    Mrs.    Deans,"    said    the   dairy-  \ 

vestal,  addressing  Jeanie,  who  sat,  not  in  the  most  com-  ' 

fortable  state  of  mind,  by  the  side  of  Archibald,  who  him-  i 

self  managed  the  helm; — "Are  you  not  afeard  of  these  ' 

wild  men  with  their  naked  knees,  and  of  this  nut-shell  of  ; 

a  thing,  that  seems  bobbing  up  and  down  like  a  skimming-  ; 

dish  in  a  milk-pail?"                                        _  ' 

"No — no — madam,"  answered  Jeanie,  with  some  hesita-  ; 

tion,  "I  am  not  feared;  for  I  hae  seen  Hielandmen  before,  j 

though  I  never  was  sae  near  them;  and  for  the  danger  of  ! 

the  deep  waters,  I  trust  there  is  a  Providence  by  sea  as  \ 

well  as  by  land."  1 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Dutton,  "it  is  a  beautiful  thing  to  i 

have  learned  to  write  and  read,  for  one  can  always  say  ; 

such  fine  words  whatever  should  befall  them."  i 

Archibald,  rejoicing  in  the  impression  which  his  vigor-  j 

ous  measures  had  made  upon  the  intractable  dairymaid,  j 

now  applied  himself,  as  a  sensible  and  good-natured  man,  ] 

to  secure  by  fair  means  the  ascendency  which  he  had  ob-  j 

tained  by  some  wholesome  violence;  and  he  succeeded  so  ] 

well  in  representing  to  her  the  idle  nature  of  her  fears,  ' 

and  the  impossibility  of  leaving  her  upon  the  beach,  en-  j 

throned  in  an  empty  carriage,  that  the  good  understanding  ' 

of  the  party  was  completely  revived  ere  they  landed  at  I 

Roseneath.  1 


CHAPTER    XLII 

Did   Fortune   guide, 
Or  rather  Destiny,  our  bark,  to  which 
We  could  appoint  no   port,  to  this  best  place? 

Fletcher. 

The  islands  in  the  Firth  of  Clyde,  which  the  daily  passage 
of  so  many  smoke-pennoned  steamboats  now  renders  so 
easily  accessible,  were,  in  our  fathers'  times,  secluded 
spots,  frequented  by  no  travellers,  and  few  visitants  of  any 


THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  483 

kind.  They  are  of  exquisite,  yet  varied  beauty.  Arran,  a 
mountainous  region,  or  Alpine  island,  abounds  with  the 
grandest  and  most  romantic  scenery.  Bute  is  of  a  softer 
and  more  woodland  character.  The  Cumrays,  as  if  to  ex- 
hibit a  contrast  to  both,  are  green,  level,  and  bare,  form- 
ing the  links  of  a  sort  of  natural  bar,  which  is  drawn 
along  the  mouth  of  the  firth,  leaving  large  intervals,  how- 
ever, of  ocean.  Roseneath,  a  smaller  isle,  lies  much  higher 
up  the  firth,  and  toward  its  western  shore,  near  the  open- 
ing of  the  lake  called  the  Gare-Loch,  and  not  far  from 
Loch  Long  and  Loch  Scant,  or  the  Holy  Loch,  which  wind 
from  the  mountains  of  the  Western  Highlands  to  join 
the  estuary  of  the  Clyde. 

In  these  isles  the  severe  frost  winds,  which  tyrannize 
over  the  vegetable  creation  during  a  Scottish  spring,  are 
comparatively  little  felt;  nor,  excepting  the  gigantic 
strength  of  Arran,  are  they  much  exposed  to  the  Atlantic 
storms,  lying  landlocked  and  protected  to  the  westward 
by  the  shores  of  Ayrshire.  Accordingly,  the  weeping-wil- 
low, the  weeping-birch,  and  other  trees  of  early  and  pendu- 
lous shoots,  flourish  in  these  favored  recesses  in  a  degree 
unknown  in  our  eastern  districts;  and  the  air  is  also  said 
to  possess  that  mildness  which  is  favorable  to  consumptive 
cases. 

The  picturesque  beauty  of  the  island  of  Roseneath,  in 
particular,  had  such  recommendations,  that  the  Earls  and 
Dukes  of  Argyle,  from  an  early  period,  made  it  their  oc- 
casional residence,  and  had  their  temporary  accommoda- 
tion in  a  fishing  or  hunting-lodtje,  which  succeeding  im- 
provements have  sinr-e  transformed  into  a  palace.  It  was 
in  its  original  simplicity,  when  the  little  bark,  which  we 
left  traversing  the  firth  at  the  end  of  last  chapter,  ap- 
proached the  shores  of  the  isle. 

When  they  touched  the  landing-place,  which  was  partly 
shrouded  by  some  old  low  but  wide-spreading  oak-trees, 
intermixed  with  hazel-bushes,  two  or  three  figures  were 
seen  as  if  awaiting  their  arrival.  To  these  Jeanie  paid 
little  attention,  so  that  it  was  with  a  shock  of  surprise 
almost  electrical,  that,  upon  being  carried  by  the  rowers 
out  of  the  boat  to  the  shore,  she  was  received  in  the  arms 
of  her  father! 

It  was  too  wonderful  to  be  believed — too  nin<-h   like  a 


484  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

happy  dream  to  have  the  stable  feeling  of  reality — She 
extricated  herself  from  his  close  and  affectionate  embrace, 
and  held  him  at  arm's  length,  to  satisfy  her  mind  that  it 
was  no  illusion.  But  the  form  was  indisputable — Douce 
David  Deans  himself,  in  his  best  light-blue  Sunday's  coat, 
with  broad  metal-buttons,  and  waistcoat  and  breeches  of 
the  same,  his  strong  gramashes  or  leggins  of  thick  gray 
cloth — the  very  copper  buckles — the  broad  Lowland  blue 
bonnet,  thrown  back  as  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  Heaven  in 
speechless  gratitude — the  gray  locks  that  straggled  from 
beneath  it  down  his  weather-beaten  "haffets" — the  bald 
and  furrowed  forehead — the  clear  blue  eye,  that,  undimmed 
by  years,  gleamed  bright  and  pale  from  under  its  shaggy 
gray  pent-house — the  features,  usually  so  stern  and  stoical, 
now  melted  into  the  unwonted  expression  of  rapturous  joy, 
affection,  and  gratitude — were  all  those  of  David  Deans; 
and  so  happily  did  they  assort  together,  that,  should  I 
ever  again  see  my  friends  Wilkie  or  Allan,  I  will  try  to 
borrow  or  steal  from  them  a  sketch  of  this  very  scene. 

"Jeanie — my  ain  Jeanie — my  best — my  maist  dutiful 
bairn — the  Lord  of  Israel  be  thy  father,  for  I  am  hardly 
worthy  of  thee!  Thou  hast  redeemed  our  captivity — 
brought  back  the  honor  of  our  house — Bless  thee,  my 
bairn,  with  mercies  promised  and  purchased! — But  He  has 
blessed  thee,  in  the  good  of  which  He  has  made  thee  the 
instrument." 

These  words  broke  from  him  not  without  tears,  though 
David  was  of  no  melting  mood.  Archibald  had,  with  deli- 
cate attention,  withdrawn  the  spectators  from  the  in- 
terview, so  that  the  wood  and  setting  sun  alone  were 
witnesses  of  the  expansion  of  their  feelings. 

"And  Effie?— and  Effie,  dear  father?"  was  an  eager  in- 
terjectional  question  which  Jeanie  repeatedly  threw  in 
among  her  expressions  of  joyful  thankfulness. 

"Ye  will  hear — ye  will  hear,"  said  David  hastily,  and 
ever  and  anon  renewed  his  grateful  acknowledgments  to 
Heaven  for  sending  Jeanie  safe  down  from  the  land  of 
prelatic  deadness  and  schismatic  heresy;  and  had  deliv- 
ered her  from  the  dangers  of  the  way,  and  the  lions  that 
were  in  the  path. 

"And  Effie?"  repeated  her  affectionate  sister  again  and 
again.     "And — and — "  (fain  would  she  have  said  Butler, 


THE    HEART    OF    AllD-LOTHIAN  485 

but  slio  modified  the  direct  inquiry) — ''and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Saddletree — and   Dumbiedikes — and   a'  friends  T' 

"A'  weel — a   weel,  praise  to  His  name!'' 

"And — and  Mr.  Butler — he  wasna  weel  when  I  gaed 
awa  f 

"He  is  quite  mended — quite  weel,"   replied  her  father. 

"Thank  God — but  oh,   dear  father,  Effie? — Effie?'' 
"You  will  never  see  her  mair,  my  bairn,"  answered  Deans 
in  a  solenui  tone — "You  are  the  ae  and  only  leaf  left  now 
on  the  auld  tree — heal  be  your  portion!" 

"She  is  dead! — She  is  slain! — It  has  come  ower  late!" 
exclaimed  Jeanie,  wrinjjing  her  hands. 

"Xo,  Jeanie."  returned  Deans,  in  the  same  grave,  melan- 
choly tone.  "She  lives  in  the  tlesh,  and  is  at  freedom  from 
earthly  restraint,  if  she  were  as  much  alive  in  faith,  and 
as  free  from  the  bonds  of  Satan." 

"The  Lord  protect  us!"  said  Jeanie. — "Can  the  unhappy- 
bairn  hae  left  you  for  that  villain  T' 

"It  is  ower  truly  spoken,"  said  Deans — ''She  has  left  her 
auld  father,  that  has  wept  and  prayed  for  her — She  has 
left  her  sister,  that  travailed  and  toiled  for  her  like  a 
mother — She  has  left  the  bones  of  her  mother,  and  the 
land  of  her  people,  and  she  is  ower  the  march  wi'  that  son 
of  Belial — She  has  made  a  moonlight  flitting  of  it."  He 
paused,  for  a  feeling  betwixt  sorrow  and  stro<ng  resent- 
ment choked  his  utterance. 

"And  wi'  that  man  ? — that  fearfu'  man  ?"  said  Jeanie. 
"And  she  has  left  us  to  gang  atf  wi'  him? — O  Effie,  Effie, 
M-ha  could  hae  thought  it,  after  sic  a  deliverance  as  you 
had    been   gifted    wi'!" 

"She  went  out  from  us,  my  bairn,  because  she  was  not 
of  us,"  replied  David.  "She  is  a  withered  branch  which  will 
never  bear  fruit  of  grace — a  scapegoat  gone  forth  into  the 
wilderness  of  the  world,  to  carry  wi'  her,  as  I  trust,  the 
sins  of  our  little  congregation.  The  peace  of  the  warld 
gang  wi'  her,  and  a  better  i)(>ace  when  she  has  the  grace 
to  turn  to  it!  If  she  is  of  II is  elected.  His  ain  hour  will 
come.  What  would  Iut  mother  have  said,  that  famous 
and  memorable  matron,  Rebecca  M'Naught,  whose  memory 
is  like  a  flower  of  sweet  savor  in  Newbattle,  and  a  pot  of 
frankincense  in  Lugton  ?  But  be  it  sat^ — let  her  part — 
let  her  gang  her  gate — let  her  bite  on  her  ain  bridle — The 


486  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Lord  kens  His  time — She  was  the  bairn  of  prayers,  and 
may  not  prove  an  utter  castaway.  But  never,  Jeanie — 
never  more  let  her  name  be  spoken  between  you  and  me — 
She  hath  passed  from  us  like  the  brook  which  vanisheth 
when  the  summer  waxeth  warm,  as  patient  Job  saith — let 
her  pass,  and  be  forgotten." 

There  w^as  a  melancholy  pause  which  followed  these  ex- 
pressions. Jeanie  would  fain  have  asked  more  circum- 
stances relating  to  her  sister's  departure,  but  the  tone  of 
her  father's  prohibition  was  positive.  She  was  about  to 
mention  her  interview  with  Staunton  at  his  father's  rec- 
tory; but,  on  hastily  running-  over  the  particulars  in  her 
memory,  she  thought  that,  on  the  whole,  they  were  more 
likely  to  aggravate  than  diminish  his  distress  of  mind. 
She  turned,  therefore,  the  discourse  from  this  painful 
subject,  resolving  to  suspend  farther  inquiry  until  she 
should  see  Butler,  from  whom  she  expected  to  learn 
the  particulars  of  her  sister's  elopement. 

But  when  was  she  to  see  Butler?  was  a  question  she 
could  not  forbear  asking  herself,  especially  while  her 
father,  as  if  eager  to  escape  from  the  subject  of  his 
youngest  daughter,  pointed  to  the  opposite  shore  of 
Dumbartonshire,  and  asking  Jeanie  "if  it  werena  a  j^leas- 
ant  abode?"  declared  to  her  his  intention  of  removing  his 
earthly  tabernacle  to  that  country,  "in  respect  he  was 
solicited  by  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  as  one  well 
skilled  in  country  labor,  and  a'  that  appertained  to  flocks 
and  herds,  to  superintend  a  store-farm,  whilk  his  Grace 
has  taen  into  his  ain  hand  for  the  improvement  of  stock." 

Jeanie's  heart  sunk  within  her  at  this  declaration. 
"She  allowed  it  was  a  goodly  and  pleasant  land,  and 
sloped  bonnily  to  the  western  sun ;  and  she  doubtedna  that 
the  pasture  might  be  very  gude,  for  the  grass  looked 
green,  for  as  drouthy  as  the  weather  had  been.  But  it  was 
far  frae  hame,  and  she  thought  she  wad  be  often  thinking 
on  the  bonny  spots  of  turf,  sae  fu'  of  gowans  and  yellow 
king-cups,   amang  the   Crags   at   St.   Leonard's." 

"Dinna  speak  on't,  Jeanie,"  said  her  father;  "I  wish 
never  to  hear  it  named  mair — that  is,  after  the  rouping 
is  ower,  and  the  bills  paid.  But  I  brought  a'  the  beasts 
ower-by  that  I  thought  ye  wad  like  best.  There  is  Gowans, 
and   there's  your   ain  brockit  cow,   and  the  wee  hawkit 


THE    liEAKT    OF    MID-LOTIIIAN  487 

aiie,  that  ye  ca'd — I  needna  tell  ye  how  ye  ca'd  it — but  I 
Louldna  bid  them  sell  the  petted  creature,  though  the 
sight  o't  may  sometimes  gie  us  a  sair  heart — it's  no  the 
[tour  dumb  creature's  fault — And  ane  or  twa  beasts  niair  I 
hae  reserved,  and  I  caused  them  to  be  driven  before  the 
other  beasts,  that  men  might  say,  as  when  the  son  of 
Jesse  returned  from  battle,  'This  is  David's  spoil.'" 

Upon  more  particular  inquiry,  Jeanie  found  new  oc- 
casion to  admire  the  active  beneficence  of  her  friend  the 
Duke  of  Argyle.  While  establishing  a  sort  of  experi- 
mental farm  on  the  skirts  of  his  immense  Highland 
estates,  he  had  been  somewhat  at  a  loss  to  find  a  proper 
fM?rson  in  whom  to  vest  the  charge  of  it.  The  conversation 
his  Grace  had  upon  country  matters  with  Jeanie  Deans 
during  their  return  from  Richmond,  had  impressed  him 
with  a  belief  that  the  father,  whose  experience  and  suc- 
cess she  so  frequently  quoted,  must  be  exactly  the  sort 
of  person  whom  he  wanted.  When  the  condition  annexed 
to  Effie's  pardon  rendered  it  highly  probable  that  David 
Deans  would  choose  to  change  his  place  of  residence,  this 
idea  again  occurred  to  the  Duke  more  strongly,  and  as  he 
was  an  enthusiast  equally  in  agriculture  and  in  benevo- 
lence, he  imagined  he  was  serving  the  purposes  of  both, 
when  he  wrote  to  the  gentleman  in  Edinburgh  entrusted 
with  his  affairs,  to  inquire  into  the  character  of  David 
Deans,  cowf(»eder.  and  so  forth,  at  St.  Leonard's  Crags; 
and  if  he  found  him  such  as  he  had  been  represented,  to 
engage  him  without  delay,  and  on  the  most  liberal  terms, 
to  superintend  his  fancy  farm  in  Dumbartonshire. 

The  proi)osal  was  made  to  old  David  by  the  gentleman 
50  conmiissioned,  on  the  second  day  after  his  daughter's 
pardon  had  reached  Edinburgh.  His  resolution  to  leave 
St.  Leonard's  had  been  already  formed ;  the  honor  of  an 
express  invitation  from  the  Duke  of  Argyle  to  superin- 
tend a  department  where  so  nnich  skill  and  diligence  was 
required,  was  in  itself  extremely  flattering;  and  the  more 
so,  because  honest  David,  who  was  not  without  an  ex- 
cellent opinion  of  his  own  talents,  persuaded  himself  that, 
by  accepting  this  charge,  he  would  in  some  sort  repay 
the  great  favor  he  had  received  at  the  hands  of  the 
Argyle  family.  The  appointments,  including  the  right 
of  sufficient  grazing  for  a  small  stock  of  his  own.  were 


488  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  j 

amply  liberal;  and  David's  keen  eye  saw  that  the  situa-  ! 
tion  was  convenient  for  trafficking  to  advantage  in  High-  '< 
land  cattle.  There  was  risk  of  "her'ship"*  from  the  : 
neighboring  mountains,  indeed,  but  the  awful  name  of  the  ; 
Duke  of  Argyle  would  be  a  great  security,  and  a  trifle  of  j 
hlaclc-mail  would,  David  was  aware,  assure  his  safety. 

Still,  however,  there  were  two  points  on  which  he  hag-  ■■ 
gled.  The  first  was  the  character  of  the  clergyman  with  ; 
whose  worship  he  was  to  join;  and  on  this  delicate  point  ' 
he  received,  as  we  will  presently  show  the  reader,  perfect 
satisfaction.  The  next  obstacle  was  the  condition  of  his  i 
youngest  daughter,  obliged  as  she  was  to  leave  Scotland  i 
for  so  many  years.  ^    ; 

The  gentleman  of  the  law  smiled,  and  said,  "There  was 
no  occasion  to  interpret  that  clause  very  strictly — that  if  ; 
the  young  woman  left  Scotland  for  a  few  months,  or  even  ' 
weeks,  and  came  to  her  father's  new  residence  by  sea  from  ; 
the  western  side  of  England,  nobody  would  know  of  her  i 
arrival,  or  at  least  nobody  who  had  either  the  right  or  i 
inclination  to  give  her  disturbance.  The  extensive  herit-  ; 
able  jurisdictions  of  his  Grace  excluded  the  interference  : 
of  other  magistrates  with  those  living  on  his  estates,  and  ' 
they  who  were  in  immediate  dependence  on  him  would  | 
Teceive  orders  to  give  the  young  woman  no  disturbance,  i 
Living  on  the  verge  of  the  Highlands,  she  might,  indeed, 
be  said  to  be  out  of  Scotland,  that  is,  beyond  the  bounds  i 
of  ordinary  law  and  civilization."  i 

Old  Deans  was  not  quite  satisfied  with  this  reasoning;  ■ 
but  the  elopement  of  Effie,  which  took  place  on  the  third  \ 
night  after  her  liberation,  rendered  his  residence  at  St.  ; 
Leonard's  so  detestable  to  him,  that  he  closed  at  once  with  ! 
the  proposal  which  had  been  made  him,  and  entered  i 
with  pleasure  into  the  idea  of  surprising  Jeanie,  as  had  ' 
been  proposed  by  the  Duke,  to  render  the  change  of  resi-  j 
dence  more  striking  to  her.  The  Duke  had  apprised  Archi-  j 
bald  of  these  circumstances,  with  orders  to  act  accord-  \ 
ing  to  the  instructions  he  should  receive  from  Edinburgh,  ■ 
and  by  which  accordingly  he  was  directed  to  bring  Jeanie 

to  Roseneath.  \ 

I 

1 

*  Her'ship,  a  Scottish  word  which  may  be  said  to  be  now  obsolete;  i 
because,  fortunately,  the  practice  of  "plundering  by  armed  force,"  which  I 
is  its  meaning,  does  not  require  to  be  commonly  spoken   of.  i 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  489 

The  father  and  daughter  communicated  these  matters 
to  each  other,  now  stoi)innjj:,  now  walking  slowly  toward 
the  Lodge,  which  showed  itself  among  the  trees,  at  about 
half  a  mile's  distance  from  the  little  bay  in  which  they 
had  landed. 

As  they  approached  the  house,  David  Deans  informed 
his  daughter,  with  somewhat  like  a  grim  smile,  which  wai 
the  utmost  advance  he  ever  made  toward  a  mirthful  ex- 
pression of  visage,  that  "there  was  baith  a  worshipful 
gentleman,  and  ane  reverend  gentleman,  residing  therein. 
The  worshipful  gentleman  was  his  honor  the  Laird  of 
Knocktarlitie,  who  was  bailie  of  the  Lordship  under  the 
Duke  of  Argyle,  ane  Hieland  gentleman,  tarr'd  wi'  the 
same  stick,"  David  doubted,  ''as  mony  of  them,  namely, 
a  hasty  and  choleric  temper,  and  a  neglect  of  the  highef 
things  that  belong  to  salvation,  and  also  a  gripping  unto 
the  things  of  this  world,  without  muckle  distinction  of 
property;  but,  however,  ane  gude  hospitable  gentleman, 
with  whom  it  would  be  a  part  of  wisdom  to  live  on  a  gude 
understanding  (for  Hielandmen  were  hasty,  ower  hasty). 
As  for  the  reverend  person  of  whom  he  had  spoken,  he 
was  candidate  by  favor  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle  (for  David 
would  not  for  the  universe  have  called  him  presentee)  for 
the  kirk  of  the  parish  in  which  their  farm  w^as  situated, 
and  he  was  likely  to  be  highly  acceptable  unto  the  Chris- 
tian souls  of  the  parish,  who  were  hungering  for  spiritual 
manna,  having  been  fed  but  upon  sour  Hieland  sowens 
by  Mr.  Duncan  MacDonought,  the  last  minister,  who  be- 
gan the  morning  duly,  Sunday  and  Saturday,  with  a 
mutchkin  of  usquebaugh.  ''But  I  need  say  the  less  about 
the  present  lad,"  said  David,  again  grimly  grimacing,  ''as 
I  think  ye  may  hae  seen  him  afore;  and  here  he  is  come 
to  meet  us." 

She  had  indeed  seen  him  before,  for  it  was  no  other 
than  Reuben  Butler  himself. 


490  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTER    XLIII 

No  more  shalt  thou  behold  thy  sister's  face; 
Thou  hast  already  had  her  last  embrace. 

Elegy  on  Mrs.   Anne  Killigrew. 

This  second  surprise  had  been  accomplished  for  Jeanie 
Deans  by  the  rod  of  the  same  benevolent  enchanter,  whose 
power  had  transplanted  her  father  from  the  Crags  of  St. 
Leonard's  to  the  banks  of  the  Gare-Loch.  The  Duke  of 
Argyle  was  not  a  person  to  forget  the  hereditary  debt  of 
gratitude,  which  had  been  bequeathed  to  him  by  his 
grandfather,  in  favor  of  the  grandson  of  old  Bible  Butler. 
He  had  internally  resolved  to  provide  for  Reuben  Butler 
in  this  kirk  of  Knocktarlitie,  of  which  the  incumbent  had 
just  departed  this  life.  Accordingly,  his  agent  received 
the  necessary  instructions  for  that  purpose,  under  the 
qualifying  condition  always,  that  the  learning  and  char- 
acter of  Mr.  Butler  should  be  found  proper  for  the  charge. 
Upon  inquiry,  these  were  found  as  highly  satisfactory  as 
had  been  reported  in  the  case  of  David  Deans  himself. 

By  this  preferment,  the  Duke  of  Argyle  more  essentially 
benefited  his  friend  and  protegee,  Jeanie,  than  he  him- 
self was  aware  of,  since  he  contributed  to  remove  objec- 
tions in  her  father's  mind  to  the  match,  which  he  had  no 
idea  had  been  in  existence. 

We  have  already  noticed  that  Deans  had  something  of  a 
prejudice  against  Butler,  which  was,  perhaps,  in  some 
degree  owing  to  his  possessing  a  sort  of  consciousness, 
that  the  poor  usher  looked  with  eyes  of  affection  upon 
his  eldest  daughter.  This,  in  David's  eyes,  was  a  sin  of 
presumption,  even  although  it  should  not  be  followed  by 
any  overt  act,  or  actual  proposal.  But  the  lively  interest 
which  Butler  had  displayed  in  his  distresses,  since  Jeanie 
set  forth  on  her  London  expedition,  and  which,  therefore, 
he  ascribed  to  personal  respect  for  himself  individually, 
had  greatly  softened  the  feelings  of  irritability  with  which 
David  had  sometimes  regarded  him.  And,  while  he  was 
in  this  good  disposition  toward  Butler,  another  incident 
took  place  which  had  great  influence  on  the  old  man's 
mind. 


1'^..'  K 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  491 

>^o  soon  as  the  shock  of  Effie's  second  elopement  was 
over,  it  was  Doans's  early  care  to  collect  and  refund  to  the 
Laird  of  Dumbiedikes  the  money  which  he  had  lent  for 
Effie's  trial,  and  for  Jeanie's  travelling  expenses.  The 
Laird,  the  pony,  the  cocked  hat,  and  the  tobacco-pipe,  had 
not  been  seen  at  St.  Leonard's  Crag's  for  many  a  day;  so 
that,  in  order  to  pay  this  debt,  David  was  under  the 
necessity  of  repairing  in  person  to  the  mansion  of  Dum- 
biedikes. 

He  found  it  in  a  state  of  unexpected  bustle.  There 
were  workmen  pulling  down  some  of  the  old  hangings,  and 
replacing  them  with  others,  altering,  repairing,  scrub- 
bing, painting,  and  white-washing.  There  was  no  know- 
ing the  old  house,  which  had  been  so  long  the  mansion  of 
sloth  and  silence.  The  Laird  himself  seemed  in  some 
confusion,  and  his  reception,  though  kind,  lacked  some- 
thing of  the  reverential  cordiality  with  which  he  used 
to  greet  David  Deans.  There  was  a  change  also.  David 
did  not  very  well  know  of  what  nature,  about  the  exterior 
of  this  landed  proprietor — an  improvement  in  the  shape 
of  his  garments,  a  spruceness  in  the  air  with  which  they 
jivere  put  on,  that  were  both  novelties.  Even  the  old  hat 
looked  smarter;  the  cock  had  been  newly  pointed,  the  lace 
had  been  refreshed,  and  instead  of  slouching  backward 
or  forward  on  the  Laird's  head,  as  it  happened  to  be 
thrown  on,  it  was  adjusted  with  a  knowing  inclination 
over  one  eye. 

David  Deans  opened  his  business,  and  told  down  the 
cash.  Dumbiedikes  steadily  inclined  his  ear  to  the  one, 
and  counted  the  other  with  great  accuracy,  interrupting 
David,  while  he  was  talking  of  the  redemption  of  the 
captivity  of  Judah,  to  ask  him  whether  he  did  not  think 
one  or  two  of  the  guineas  looked  rather  light.  When  he 
was  satisfied  on  this  point,  had  pocketed  his  money,  and 
had  signed  a  receipt,  he  addressed  David  with  some  little 
hesitation — "Jeanie  wad  be  writing  ye  something,  gude- 
man  ?" 

'* About  the  siller?"  replied  David — "nae  doubt,  she 
did." 

"And  did  she  say  nae  mair  about  me?"  asked  the  Laird. 

"Nae  mair  but  kind  and  Christian  wishes — whatsuld 
she   hae   said?"   replied   David,    fully   expeetiiig   tli.it    tlio 


492  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Laird's  long  courtship  (if  his  dangling  after  Jeanie  de- 
serves so  active  a  name)  was  now  coming  to  a  point.  And 
so  indeed  it  was,  but  not  to  that  point  which  he  wished  or 
expected. 

"Aweel,  she  kens  her  ain  mind  best,  gudeman.  I  hae 
made  a  clean  house  o'  Jenny  Balchristie  and  her  niece. 
They  were  a  bad  pack — steal'd  meat  and  mault,  and  loot 
the  carters  magg  the  coals — I'm  to  be  married  the  morn, 
and  kirkit  on   Sunday." 

Whatever  David  felt,  he  was  too  proud  and  too  steady- 
minded  to  show  any  unpleasant  surprise  in  his  counte- 
nance and  manner. 

''I  wuss  ye  happy,  sir,  through  Him  that  gies  happi- 
ness— marriage  is   an  honorable  state." 

"And  I  am  wedding  into  an  honorable  house,  David — 
the  Laird  of  Lickpelf's  youngest  daughter — she  sits  next 
us  in  the  kirk,  and  that's  the  way  I  came  to  think  on't." 

There  was  no  more  to  be  said,  but  again  to  wish  the 
Laird  joy,  to  taste  a  cup  of  his  liquor,  and  to  walk  back 
again  to  St.  Leonard's,  musing  on  the  mutability  of 
human  affairs  and  human  resolutions.  The  expectation 
that  one  day  or  other  Jeanie  would  be  Lady  Dumbiedikes, 
had,  in  spite  of  himself,  kept  a  more  absolute  possession 
of  David's  mind  than  he  himself  was  aware  of.  At  least, 
it  had  hitherto  seemed  a  union  at  all  times  within  his 
daughter's  reach,  whenever  she  might  choose  to  give  her 
silent  lover  any  degree  of  encouragement,  and  now  it 
was  vanished  forever.  David  returned,  therefore,  in  no 
very  gracious  humor  for  so  good  a  man.  He  was  angry 
with  Jeanie  for  not  having  encouraged  the  Laird — he  was 
angry  with  the  Laird  for  requiring  encouragement — and 
he  was  angry  with  himself  for  being  angry  at  all  on  the 
occasion. 

On  his  return  he  found  the  gentleman  who  managed 
the  Duke  of  Argyle's  affairs  was  desirous  of  seeing  him, 
v^ith  a  view  to  completing  the  arrangement  between  them. 
Thus,  after  a  brief  repose,  he  was  obliged  to  set  off  anew 
for  Edinburgh,  so  that  old  May  Hettly  declared,  "that  a' 
this  was  to  end  with  the  master  just  walking  himself  aff 
his  feet." 

When  the  business  respecting  the  farm  had  been  talked 
ovor  and  arranged,  the  professional  gentleman  acquainted 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  493 

David  Deans,  in  answer  to  his  inquiries  concerning  the 
state  of  public  worship,  that  it  was  the  pleasure  of  the 
Duke  to  put  an  excellent  young-  clergyman,  called  Reuben 
Butler,  into  the  parish,  which  was  to  be  his  future  resi- 
dence. 

"Reuben  Butler!"  exclaimed  David — "Reuben  Butler, 
the  usher  at  Libberton?" 

"The  very  same,"  said  the  Duke's  commissioner;  "his 
Grace  has  heard  an  excellent  character  of  him,  and  has 
some  hereditary  obligations  to  him  besides — few  ministers 
will  be  so  comfortable  as  I  am  directed  to  make  Mr. 
Butler." 

"Obligations?  —  The  Duke?  —  Obligations  to  Reuben 
Butler — Reuben  Butler  a  placed  minister  of  the  Kirk  of 
Scotland !"  exclaimed  David,  in  interminable  astonish- 
ment, for  somehow  he  had  been  led  by  the  bad  success 
which  Butler  had  hitherto  met  with  in  all  his  undertak- 
ings, to  consider  him  as  one  of  those  stepsons  of  Fortune, 
whom  she  treats  with  unceasing  rigor,  and  ends  with 
disinheriting  altogether. 

There  is,  perhaps,  no  time  at  which  we  are  disposed  to 
think  so  highly  of  a  friend,  as  when  we  find  him  standing 
higher  than  we  expected  in  the  esteem  of  others.  When 
assured  of  the  reality  of  Butler's  change  of  prospects, 
David  expressed  his  great  satisfaction  at  his  success  in 
life,  which,  he  obsen-ed,  was  entirely  owing  to  himself 
(David).  "I  advised  his  puir  grandmother,  who  was  but 
a  silly  woman,  to  breed  him  up  to  the  ministry;  and  I 
prophesied  that,  with  a  blessing  on  his  endeavors,  he 
would  become  a  polished  shaft  in  the  temi)le.  He  may  be 
something  ower  proud  o'  his  carnal  learning,  but  a  gude 
lad,  and  has  the  root  of  the  matter — as  ministers  gang 
now.  where  yo'll  find  ane  better,  ye'll  find  ten  waur,  than 
Reuben   l>utler." 

He  took  leave  of  the  man  of  business,  and  walked  home- 
ward, forgetting  his  weariness  in  the  various  speculations 
to  which  this  won<lerful  piece  of  intelligence  gave  rise. 
Honest  David  had  now.  like  other  great  men,  to  go  to  work  / 
to  reconcile  his  speculative  principles  with  existing  cir- 
cumstances; and,  like  other  great  men,  when  they  set 
seriously  about  that  task,  he  was  tolerably  successful. 

"Ought  Reuben  Butler  in  conscience  to  accept  of  this 


494  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

preferment  in  the  Kirk  of  Scotland,  subject  as  David  at 
present  thought  that  establishment  was  to  the  Erastian 
encroachments  of  the  civil  power?"  This  was  the  lead- 
ing question,  and  he  considered  it  carefully.  "The  Kirk 
of  Scotland  was  shorn  of  its  beams,  and  deprived  of  its 
full  artillery  and  banners  of  authority;  but  still  it  con- 
tained zealous  and  fructifying  pastors,  attentive  congrega- 
tions, and,  with  all  her  spots  and  blemishes,  the  like  of 
this  Kirk  was  nowhere  else  to  be  seen  upon  earth." 

David's  doubts  had  been  too  many  and  too  critical  to 
permit  him  ever  unequivocally  to  unite  himself  with  any 
of  the  dissenters,  who,  upon  various  accounts,  absolutely 
seceded  from  the  national  church.     He  had  often  joined 
in  communion  with  such  of  the  established  clergy  as  ap- 
proached nearest  to  the  old  Presbyterian  model  and  prin- 
ciples of  1640.     And  although  there  were  many  things  to 
be  amended  in  that  system,  yet  he  remembered  that  he,    [ 
David  Deans,  had  himself  ever  been  a  humble  pleader  for    \ 
the  good  old  cause  in  a  legal  way,  but  without  rushing 
into  right-hand  excesses,  divisions,  and  separations.     But, 
as  an  enemy  to  separation,  he  might  join  the  right  hand    [ 
of  fellowship  with  a  minister  of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland  in     ' 
its  present  model.     Ergo,  Reuben  Butler  might  take  pos-    | 
session  of  the  parish  of  Knocktarlitie,  without  forfeiting    ; 
his  friendship  or  favor — Q.  E.  D.     But,  secondly,  came 
the  trying  point  of  lay-patronage,  which  David  Deans  had    ' 
ever  maintained  to  be  a  coming  in  by  the  window,  and     I 
over  the  wall,  a  cheating  and  starving  the  souls  of  a  whole 
parish,  for  the  purpose  of  clothing  the  back  and  filling  the 
belly  of  the  incumbent.  ■ 

This  presentation,  therefore,  from  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  ' 
whatever  was  the  worth  and  high  character  of  that  noble-  ' 
man,  was  a  limb  of  the  brazen  image,  a  portion  of  the  :, 
evil  thing,  and  with  no  kind  of  consistency  could  David 
bend  his  mind  to  favor  such  a  transaction.  But  if  the  ; 
parishioners  themselves  joined  in  a  general  call  to  Reuben  , 
Butler  to  be  their  pastor,  it  did  not  seem  quite  so  evident  ' 
that  the  existence  of  this  unhappy  presentation  was  a  ■ 
reason  for  his  refusing  them  the  comforts  of  his  doctrine,  j 
If  the  Presbytery  admitted  him  to  the  kirk,  in  virtue  j 
rather  of  that  act  of  patronage  than  of  the  general  call  ! 
of  the  congregation,  that  might  be  their  error,  and  David     I 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  495 

allowed  it  was  a  heavy  one.  But  if  Reuben  Butler  ac- 
cepted of  the  care  as  tendered  to  him  by  those  whom  he 
was  called  to  teach,  and  who  had  expressed  themselves 
desirous  to  learn,  David,  after  considering  and  reconsider- 
ing the  matter,  came,  through  the  great  virtue  of  if,  to  be 
of  opinion  that  he  might  safely  so  act  in  that  matter. 

There  remained  a  third  stumbling-block — the  oaths  to 
government  exacted  from  the  established  clergyman,  in 
which  they  acknowledge  an  Erastian  king  and  parliament, 
and  homologate  the  incorporating  Union  between  England 
and  Scotland,  through  which  the  latter  kingdom  had  be- 
come part  and  portion  of  the  former,  wherein  Prelacy,  the 
sister  of  Popery,  had  made  fast  her  throne,  and  elevated 
the  horns  of  her  mitre.  These  were  symptoms  of  defec- 
tion which  had  often  made  David  cry  olit,  "My  bowels — 
my  bowels! — I  am  pained  at  the  very  heart!"  And  he 
remembered  that  a  godly  Bow-head  matron  had  been  car- 
ried out  of  the  Tolbooth  Church  in  a  swoon,  beyond  the 
reach  of  brandy  and  burned  feathers,  merely  on  hearing 
these  fearful  words,  "It  is  enacted  by  the  Lords  spiritual 
and  temporal,"  pronounced  from  a  Scottish  pulpit,  in  the 
poem  to  the  Porteous  Proclamation.  These  oaths  were, 
therefore,  a  deep  compliance  and  dire  abomination — a 
sin  and  a  snare,  and  a  danger  and  a  defection.  But  this 
shibboleth  was  not  always  exacted.  Ministers  had  respect 
to  their  own  tender  consciences,  and  those  of  their  breth- 
ren;  and  it  was  not  till  a  later  period  that  the  reins  of 
discipline  were  taken  up  tight  by  the  General  Assemblies 
and  Presbyteries.  The  peace-making  particle  came  again 
to  David's  assistance.  //  an  incuml)cnt  was  not  called 
upon  to  make  such  compliances,  and  //  he  got  a  right 
entry  into  the  church  without  intrusion,  and  by  orderly 
appointment,  why,  upon  the  whole,  David  Deans  came  to 
be  of  opinion  that  the  said  incumbent  might  lawfully 
enjoy  the  spirituality  and  temporality  of  the  cure  of  souls 
at  Knocktarlitie,  with  stipend,  manse,  glebe,  and  all  there- 
imt/)  appertaining. 

The  best  and  most  upright-minded  men  are  so  strongly 
influenced  by  existing  circumstances,  that  it  wonld  be 
somewhat  cruel  to  inquire  too  nearly  what  weight  paternal 
aifection  gave  to  these  ingenious  trains  of  reasoning.  Let 
David  Deans's  situation  be  considered.     He  was  just  de- 


496  THE   HEAKT    OF   MID-LOTHIAN" 

prived  of  one  daughter,  and  his  eldest,  to  whom  he  ovzed 
so  much,  was  cut  off,  by  the  sudden  resolution  of  Dumbie- 
dikes,  from  the  high  hope  which  David  had  entertained, 
that  she  might  one  day  be  mistress  of  that  fair  lordship. 
Just  while  this  disappointment  was  bearing  heavy  on  his 
spirits,  Butler  comes  before  his  imagination — no  longer 
the  half-starved,  threadbare  usher,  but  fat  and  sleek  and 
fair,  the  beneficed  minister  of  Knocktarlitie,  beloved  by 
his  congregation, — exemplary  in  his  life, — powerful  in 
his  doctrine, — doing  the  duty  of  the  kirk  as  never  High- 
land minister  did  it  before, — turning  sinners  as  a  collie 
dog  turns  sheep. — a  favorite  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  and 
drawing  a  stipend  of  eight  hundred  punds  Scots,  and  four 
chalders  of  victual.  Here  was  a  match,  making  up,  in 
David's  mind,  in  a  tenfold  degree,  the  disappointment  in 
the  case  of  Dumbiedikes,  in  so  far  as  the  Goodman  of  St. 
Leonard's  held  a  powerful  minister  in  much  greater  ad- 
miration than  a  mere  landed  proprietor.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him,  as  an  additional  reason  in  favor  of  the  match, 
that  Jeanie  might  herself  have  some  choice  in  the  matter; 
for  the  idea  of  consulting  her  feelings  never  once  entered 
the  honest  man's  head,  any  more  than  the  possibility  that 
her  inclination  might  perhaps  differ  from  his  own. 

The  result  of  his  meditations  was,  that  he  was  called 
upon  to  take  the  management  of  the  whole  affair  into  his 
own  hand,  and  give,  if  it  should  be  found  possible  without 
sinful  compliance,  or  back-sliding,  or  defection  of  any 
kind,  a  worthy  pastor  to  the  kirk  of  Knocktarlitie.  Ac- 
cordingly, by  the  intervention  of  the  honest  dealer  in 
butter-milk  who  dwelt  in  Libberton,  David  summoned  to 
his  presence  Reuben  Butler.  Even  from  this  worthy  mes- 
senger he  was  unable  to  conceal  certain  swelling  emotions 
of  dignity,  insomuch,  that,  when  the  carter  had  com- 
municated his  message  to  the  usher,  he  added,  that 
"Certainly  the  Gudeman  of  St.  Leonard's  had  some  grand 
news  to  tell  him,  for  he  was  as  uplifted  as  a  midden-cock 
upon  pattens." 

Butler,  it  may  readily  be  conceived,  immediately  obeyed 
the  summons.  His  was  a  plain  character,  in  which  worth 
and  good  sense  and  simplicity  were  the  principal  ingredi- 
ents ;  but  love,  on  this  occasion,  gave  him  a  certain  degree 
of  address.     He  had  received  an  intimation  of  the  favor 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  497 

desicrncd  him  by  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  with  what  feelings 
those  only  can  conceive,  who  have  experienced  a  sudden 
prospect  of  being  raised  to  independence  and  respect,  from 
penury  and  toil.  He  resolved,  however,  that  the  old  man 
should  retain  all  the  consequence  of  being,  in  his  own 
opmion,  the  first  to  communicate  his  important  intelli- 
gence. At  the  same  time,  he  also  determined  that  in  the 
expected  conference  he  would  permit  David  Deans  to 
expatiate  at  length  upon  the  proposal,  in  all  its  bearings, 
without  irritating  him  either  by  interruption  or  contradic- 
tion. This  last  plan  was  the  most  prudent  he  could  have 
adopted ;  because,  although  there  were  many  doubts 
which  David  Deans  could  himself  clear  up  to  his  own 
satisfaction,  yet  he  might  have  been  by  no  means  dis- 
posed to  accept  the  solution  of  any  other  person;  and  to 
engage  him  in  an  argument  would  have  been  certain  to 
confirm  him  at  once  and  forever  in  the  opinion  which 
Butler  chanced   to   impugn. 

He  received  his  friend  with  an  appearance  of  impor- 
tant gravity,  which  real  misfortune  had  long  compelled 
him  to  lay  aside,  and  which  belonged  to  those  days  of 
awful  authority  in  which  he  predominated  over  Widow 
Butler,  and  dictated  the  mode  of  cultivating  the  crofts  at 
Beersheba.  He  made  knowTi  to  Reuben  with  great  pro- 
lixity the  prospect  of  his  changing  his  present  residence 
for  the  charge  of  the  Duke  of  Argyle's  stock-farm  in 
Dumbartonshire,  and  enumerated  the  various  advantages 
of  the  situation  with  obvious  self-congratulation;  but 
assured  the  patient  hearer,  that  nothing  had  so  much 
moved  him  to  afceptance,  as  the  sense  that,  by  his  skill  in 
bestial,  he  could  render  the  most  important  services  to  his 
Grace  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  to  whom,  "in  the  late  unhappy 
circumstance"  (here  a  tear  dimmed  the  sparkle  of  i)rid<' 
in  the  old  man's  eye),  "he  had  been  sae  muckle  obliged." 

"To  j)ut  a  rude  Hielandman  into  sic  a  charge,"  he  con- 
tinued, "what  could  be  expected  but  that  he  suld  be  sic 
a  chiefest  herdsman,  as  wicked  Doeg  the  Edomit<^?  whereas, 
while  this  gray  head  is  to  the  fore,  not  a  clute  o'  them  l)ut 
sail  be  as  weel  cared  for  as  if  they  were  the  fatted  kine 
of  Pharaoh. — And  now,  Reuben,  lad,  seeing  we  maun 
remove  our  tent  to  a  strange  country,  ye  will  be  casting  a 
doleful  look  after  us,  and  thinking  with  whom  ye  are  to 


498  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

hold  council  anent  your  government  in  thae  slippery  and 
backsliding  times;  and  nae  doubt  remembering,  that  the 
auld  man,  David  Deans,  was  made  the  instrument  to  bring 
you  out  of  the  mire  of  schism  and  heresy,  wherein  your 
father's  house  delighted  to  wallow;  aften  also,  nae  doubt, 
when  ye  are  pressed  wi'  ensnaring  trials  and  tentations 
and  heart-plagues,  you,  that  are  like  a  recruit  that  is 
marching  for  the  first  time  to  the  took  of  drum,  will  miss 
the  auld,  bauld,  and  experienced  veteran  soldier  that  has 
felt  the  brunt  of  mony  a  foul  day,  and  heard  the  bullets 
whistle  as  aften  as  he  has  hairs  left  on  his  auld  pow." 

It  is  very  possible  that  Butler  might  internally  be  of 
opinion,  that  the  reflection  on  his  ancestor's  peculiar 
tenets  might  have  been  spared,  or  that  he  might  be  pre- 
sumptuous enough  even  to  think,  that,  at  his  years  and 
with  his  own  lights,  he  might  be  able  to  hold*  his  course 
without  the  pilotage  of  honest  David.  But  he  only  replied, 
by  expressing  his  regret,  that  anything  should  separate 
him  from  an  ancient,  tried,  and  affectionate  friend. 

"But  how  can  it  be  helped,  man?"  said  David,  twisting 
his  features  into  a  sort  of  smile — "How  can  we  help  it? — 
I  trow  ye  canna  tell  me  that — Ye  maun  leave  that  to  ither 
folk — to  the  Duke  of  Argyle  and  me,  Reuben.  It's  a 
gude  thing  to  hae  friends  in  this  warld — how  muckle 
better  to  hae  an  interest  beyond  it!" 

And  David,  whose  piety,  though  not  always  quite  ra- 
tional, was  as  sincere  as  it  was  habitual  and  fervent, 
looked  reverentially  upward,  and  paused.  Mr.  Butler  in- 
timated the  pleasure  with  which  he  would  receive  his 
friend's  advice  on  a  subject  so  important,  and  David 
resumed. 

"What  think  ye  now,  Reuben,  of  a  Kirk — a  regular 
kirk  under  the  present  establishment? — Were  sic  offered 
to  ye,  wad  ye  be  free  to  accept  it,  and  under  whilk  pro- 
visions?— I  am  speaking  but  by  way  of  query." 

Butler  replied,  "That  if  such  a  prospect  were  held  out 
to  him,  he  would  probably  first  consult  whether  he  was 
likely  to  be  useful  to  the  parish  he  should  be  called  to; 
and  if  there  appeared  a  fair  prospect  of  his  proving  so,  his 
friend  must  be  aware,  that,  in  every  other  point  of  view, 
it  would  be  highly  advantageous  for  him." 

"Right,  Reuben,  very  right,  lad,"  answered  the  monitor, 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  499 

"your  ain  conscience  is  the  first  thing  to  be  satisfied — 
for  how  sail  he  teach  others  that  has  himsell  sae  ill  learned 
the  Scriptures,  as  to  grip  for  the  lucre  of  foul  earthly 
preferment,  sic  as  gear  and  manse,  money  and  victual, 
that  which  is  not  his  in  a  spiritual  sense — or  wha  makes 
his  kirk  a  stalking-horse,  from  behind  which  he  may  tak 
aim  at  his  stipend?  But  I  look  for  better  things  of  you — 
and  specially  ye  maun  be  minded  not  to  act  altogether 
on  your  ain  judgment,  for  therethrough  comes  sair  mis- 
takes, backslidings,  and  defections,  on  the  left  and  on  the 
right.  If  there  were  sic  a  day  of  trial  put  to  you,  Reuben, 
you,  who  are  a  young  lad,  although  it  may  be  ye  are 
gifted  wi'  the  carnal  tongues,  and  those  whilk  were  spoken 
at  Rome,  whilk  is  now  the  seat  of  the  scarlet  abomination, 
and  by  the  Greeks,  to  whom  the  gospel  was  as  foolishness, 
yet  nae-the-less  ye  may  be  entreated  by  your  weel-wisher 
to  take  the  counsel  of  those  prudent  and  resolved  and 
weather-withstanding  professors,  wha  hae  kend  what  it 
was  to  lurk  on  banks  and  in  mosses,  in  bogs  and  in  caverns, 
and  to  risk  the  peril  of  the  head  rather  than  renunce  the 
honesty  of  the  heart." 

Butler  replied,  *'That  certainly,  possessing  such  a  friend 
as  he  hoped  and  trusted  he  had  in  the  goodman  himself, 
who  had  seen  so  many  changes  in  the  preceding  century, 
he  should  be  much  to  blame  if  he  did  not  avail  himself 
of  his  experience  and  friendly  counsel." 

"Eneugh  said — eneugh  said,  Reuben,"  said  David 
Deans,  with  internal  exultation;  "and  say  that  ye  were  in 
the  predicament  whereof  I  hae  spoken,  of  a  surety  I  would 
deem  it  my  duty  to  gang  to  the  root  o'  the  matter,  and 
lay  bare  to  you  the  ulcers  and  imposthumes,  and  the  sore^ 
and  the  leprosies,  of  this  our  time,  crying  aloud  and 
sparing  not." 

David  Deans  was  now  in  his  element.  He  commenced 
his  examination  of  the  doctrines  and  belief  of  the  Chris- 
tian Church  with  the  very  Culdees,  from  whom  he  passed 
to  John  Knox, — from  John  Knox  to  the  recusants  in 
James  the  Sixth's  time, — Bruce,  Black,  Blair,  Living- 
stone,— from  them  to  the  brief,  and  at  length  triumphant 
period  of  the  Presbyterian  Church's  splendor,  until  it  was 
overrun  by  the  English  Independents.  Then  followed 
the  dismal   times  of  prelacy,   the   indulgences,   seven    in 


500  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

number,  with  all  their  shades  and  bearings,  until  he  ar- 
rived at  the  reign  of  King  James  the  Second,  in  which 
he  himself  had  been,  in  his  own  mind,  neither  an  obscure 
actor  nor  an  obscure  sufferer.  Then  was  Butler  doomed 
to  hear  the  most  detailed  and  annotated  edition  of  what 
he  had  so  often  heard  before — David  Deans's  confinement, 
namely,  in  the  iron  cage  in  the  Canongate  Tolbooth,  and 
the  cause  thereof. 

We  should  be  very  unjust  to  our  friend  David  Deans, 
if  we  should  "pretermit,"  to  use  his  own  expression,  a 
narrative  which  he  held  essential  to  his  fame.  A  drunken 
trooper  of  the  Royal  Guards,  Francis  Gordon  by  name, 
had  chased  five  or  six  of  the  skulking  Whigs,  among 
whom  was  our  friend  David;  and  after  he  had  compelled 
them  to  stand,  and  was  in  the  act  of  brawling  with  them, 
one  of  their  number  fired  a  pocket-pistol,  and  shot  him 
dead.  David  used  to  sneer  and  shake  his  head  when  any 
one  asked  him  whether  he  had  been  the  instrument  of 
removing  this  wicked  persecutor  from  the  face  of  the 
earth.  In  fact,  the  merit  of  the  deed  lay  between  him  and 
his  friend,  Patrick  Walker,  the  pedlar,  whose  works  he 
was  so  fond  of  quoting.  ISTeither  of  them  cared  directly 
to  claim  the  merit  of  silencing  Mr.  Francis  Gordon  of  the 
Life-Guards,  there  being  some  wild  cousins  of  his  about 
Edinburgh,  who  might  have  been  even  yet  addicted  to 
revenge,  but  yet  neither  of  them  chose  to  disown  or  yield 
to  the  other  the  merit  of  this  active  defence  of  their  re- 
ligious rites.  David  said,  that  if  he  had  fired  a  pistol 
then,  it  was  what  he  never  did  after  or  before.  And  as 
for  Mr.  Patrick  Walker,  he  has  left  it  upon  record,  that 
his  great  surprise  was,  that  so  small  a  pistol  could  kill  so 
big  a  man.  These  are  the  words  of  that  venerable  bi- 
ographer, whose  trade  had  not  taught  him  by  experience, 
that  an  inch  was  as  good  as  an  ell.  "He"  (Francis 
Gordon)  "got  a  shot  in  his  head  out  of  a  pocket-pistol, 
rather  fit  for  diverting  a  boy  than  killing  such  a  furious, 
mad,  brisk  man,  which  notwithstanding  .killed  him  dead!"* 

Upon  the  extensive  foundation  which  the  history  of 
the  kirk  afforded,  during  its  short-lived  triumph  and  long 
tribulation,  David,  with  length  of  breath  and  of  narrative, 

*  Note  XV. — Death  of  Francis  Gordon. 


TUT-    HEART    OF    ATTD-LOTHIAX  501 

uhicli  woukl  have  astounded  any  one  but  a  lover  of  his 
daughter,  proceeded  to  lay  down  his  own  rules  for  guid- 
ing the  conscience  of  his  friend,  as  an  aspirant  to  serve 
in  the  ministry-.  Upon  this  subject,  the  good  man  went 
through  such  a  variety  of  nice  and  casuistical  problems, 
supposed  so  many  extreme  cases,  made  the  distinctions  so 
critical  and  nice  betwixt  the  right  hand  and  the  left  hand 
— betwixt  compliance  and  defection — holding  back  and 
stepping  aside — slipping  and  stumbling — snares  and  errors 
— that  at  length,  after  having  limited  the  path  of  truth  to  a 
mathematical  line,  he  was  brought  to  the  broad  admission, 
that  each  man's  conscience,  after  he  had  gained  a  certain  y^ 
view  of  the  difficult  navigation  which  he  was  to  encounter, 
would  be  the  best  guide  for  his  pilotage.  He  stated  the 
examples  and  arguments  for  and  against  the  acceptance 
of  a  kirk  on  the  present  revolution  model,  with  much  more 
impartiality  to  Butler  than  he  had  been  able  to  place  them 
before  his  own  view.  And  he  concluded,  that  his  young 
friend  ought  to  think  upon  t^ese  things,  and  be  guided 
by  the  voice  of  his  own  conscience,  whether  he  could  take 
such  an  awful  trust  as  the  charge  of  souls,  without  doing 
injury  to  his  own  internal  conviction  of  wliat  is  right  or 
wrong. 

When  David  had  finished  his  very  long  harangue,  which 
was  only  interrupted  by  monosyllables,  or  little  more,  on 
the  part  of  Butler,  the  orator  himself  was  greatly  aston- 
ished to  find  that  the  conclusion,  at  which  he  very  natural- 
ly wished  to  arrive,  seemed  much  less  decisively  attained 
than  when  he  had  argued  the  case  in  his  own  mind. 

In  this  particular.  David's  current  of  thinking  and 
speaking  only  illustrated  the  vers'  imjiortant  and  general 
proposition,  concerning  the  excellence  of  the  publicity  of 
debate.  For,  under  the  influence  of  any  partial  feeling, 
it  is  certain,  that  most  men  can  more  easily  reconcile 
themselves  to  any  favorite  measure,  when  agitating  it  in 
their  own  mind,  than  when  obliged  to  expose  its  merits  to 
a  third  party,  when  the  necessity  of  seeming  imjiartial 
procures  for  the  opposite  arguments  a  much  more  fair 
statement  than  that  which  he  affords  it  in  tacit  medita- 
tion. Having  finished  what  he  had  to  say.  David  thought 
himself  obliged  to  be  more  explicit  in  point  of  fact,  and 
to  explain  that  this  was  no  hypothetical  case,  but  one  on 


502  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

which  (by  his  own  influence  and  that  of  the  Duke  of 
Argyle)  Reuben  Butler  would  soon  be  called  to  decide. 

It  was  even  with  something  like  apprehension  that 
David  Deans  heard  Butler  announce,  in  return  to  this 
communication,  that  he  would  take  that  night  to  consider 
on  what  he  had  said  with  such  kind  intentions,  and  return 
him  an  answer  the  next  morning.  The  feelings  of  the 
father  mastered  David  on  this  occasion.  He  pressed 
Butler  to  spend  the  evening  with  him — He  produced,  most 
unusual  at  his  meals,  one,  nay,  two  bottles  of  aged  strong 
ale. — He  spoke  of  his  daughter — of  her  merits — her 
housewifery — her  thrift — her  affection.  He  led  Butler  so 
decidedly  up  to  a  declaration  of  his  feelings  toward 
Jeanie,  that,  before  nightfall,  it  was  distinctly  under- 
stood she  was  to  be  the  bride  of  Reuben  Butler;  and  if 
they  thought  it  indelicate  to  abridge  the  period  of  de- 
liberation which  Reuben  had  stipulated,  it  seemed  to  be 
sufficiently  understood  betwixt  them,  that  there  was  a 
strong  probability  of  his  becoming  minister  of  Knock- 
tarlitie,  providing  the  congregation  were  as  willing  to 
accept  of  him,  as  the  Duke  to  grant  him  the  presentatioi^. 
The  matter  of  the  oaths,  they  agreed,  it  was  time  enoi.gh 
to  dispute  about,  whenever  the  shibboleth  should  be 
tendered. 

Many  arrangements  were  adopted  that  evening,  which 
were  afterward  ripened  by  correspondence  with  the  Duke 
of  Argyle's  man  of  business,  who  entrusted  Deans  and 
Butler  with  the  benevolent  wish  of  his  principal,  that  they 
should  all  meet  with  Jeanie,  on  her  return  from  England, 
at  the  Duke's  hunting-lodge  in  Roseneath. 

This  retrospect,  so  far  as  the  placid  loves  of  Jeanie 
Deans  and  Reuben  Butler  are  concerned,  forms  a  full 
explanation  of  the  preceding  narrative  up  to  their  meeting 
on  the  island  as  already  mentioned. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  503 


CHAPTER    XLIV 

"I   come,"   he   said,   "my    love,   my   life. 
And — nature's    dearest    name — my    wife: 
Thy  father's  house  and  friends  resign. 
My  home,  my  friends,  my  sire,  are  thine." 

Logan, 

HE  meeting  of  Jeanie  and  Butler,  under  circumstances 
'omising  to  crown  an  atlection  so  long  delayed,  was 
ther  aifecting  from  its  simple  sincerity  than  from  its 
icommon  vehemence  of  feeling.  David  Deans,  whose 
act  ice  was  sometimes  a  little  different  from  his  theory, 
ipalled  them  at  first,  by  giving  them  the  opinion  of 
ndry  of  the  suffering  preachers  and  champions  of  his 
lunger  days,  that  marriage,  though  honorable  by  the 
ws  of  Scripture,  was  yet  a  state  over-rashly  coveted  by 
ofessors,  and  specially  by  young  ministers,  whose  desire, 
■  said,  was  at  whiles  too  inordinate  for  kirks,  stipends, 
id  wives,  which  had  frequently  occasioned  over-ready 
mpliance  with  the  general  defections  of  the  times, 
e  endeavored  to  make  them  aware  also,  that  hasty  wed- 
?k  had  been  the  bane  of  many  a  savory  professor — that 
e  unbelieving  wife  had  too  often  reversed  the  text,  and 
rverted  the  believing  husband — that  when  the  famous 
onald  Cargill,  being  then  hiding  in  Leewood,  in  Lanark- 
ire,  it  being  killing-time,  did,  upon  importunity,  marry 
Dbcrt  Marshal  of  Starry  Shaw,  he  had  thus  expressed 
mself:  ''What  hath  induced  Robert  to  marry  this 
)man  ?  hor  ill  will  ovoroome  his  good — he  will  not  kcei) 
e  way  long — his  thriving  days  are  done."  To  the  sad 
complishment  of  which  prophecy  David  said  he  was 
mself  a  living  witness,  for  Robert  Marshal,  havinir 
lien  into  foul  compliances  with  the  enemy,  went  honip, 
id  heard  the  curates,  declined  into  other  steps  of  defec- 
)n,  and  became  lightly  esteemed.  Indeed,  he  observed, 
at  the  great  upholders  of  the  standard,  Cargill,  Peden, 
imeron,  and  Renwick,  had  less  delight  in  tying  the 
nds  of  matrimony  than  in  any  other  piece  of  their 
inisterial  work;  and  although  they  would  neither  dis- 
ade  the  parties,  nor  refuse  their  office,  they  considered 
e  being  called  to  it  as  an  evidence  of  indifTerence,  on 


504  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

tlie  part  of  those  between  ■whom  it  was  solemnized,  to  the 
many  grievous  things  of  the  day.  Notwithstanding,  how- 
ever, that  marriage  was  a  snare  unto  many,  David  was  of 
opinion  (as,  indeed,  he  had  showed  in  his  practice)  that 
it  was  in  itself  honorable,  especially  if  times  were  such 
that  honest  men  could  be  secure  against  being  shot, 
hanged,  or  banished,  and  had  ane  competent  livelihood  to 
maintain  themselves,  and  those  that  might  come  after 
them.  "And,  therefore,"  as  he  concluded  something  ab- 
ruptly, addressing  Jeanie  and  Butler,  who,  with  faces  as 
high-colored  as  crimson,  had  been  listening  to  this  length- 
ened argument  for  and  against  the  holy  state  of  matri- 
mony, "I  will  leave  ye  to  your  ain  cracks."  j 

As  their  private  conversation,  however  interesting  to  i 
themselves,  might  probably  be  very  little  so  to  the  reader,  | 
so  far  as  it  respected  their  present  feelings  and  future  j 
prospects,  we  shall  pass  it  over,  and  only  mention  the  in-  i 
formation  which  Jeanie  received  from  Butler  concerning  i 
her  sister's  elopement,  which  contained  many  particulars  j 
that  she  had  been  unable  to  extract  from  her  father. 

Jeanie  learned,  therefore,  that,  for  three  days  after  her 
pardon  had  arrived,  Effie  had  been  the  inmate  of  her  ! 
father's  house  at  St.  Leonard's — that  the  interviews  be-  j 
twixt  David  and  his  erring  child,  which  had  taken  place  : 
before  she  was  liberated  from  prison,  had  been  touching  in  j 
the  extreme;  but  Butler  could  not  suppress  his  opinion,  ■ 
that,  when  he  was  freed  from  the  apprehension  of  losing  j 
her  in  a  manner  so  horrible,  her  father  had  tightened  the  ! 
hands  of  discipline,  so  as,  in  some  degree,  to  gall  the  ' 
feelings  and  aggravate  the  irritability  of  a  spirit  naturally  ; 
impatient  and  petulant,  and  now  doubly  so  from  the  sense  j 
of  merited   disgrace.  j 

On  the  third  night,  Effie  disappeared  from  St.  Leon-  j 
ard's,  leaving  no  intimation  whatever  of  the  route  she  had  } 
taken.     Butler,  however,  set  out  in  pursuit  of  her,  and  j 
with   much   trouble   traced   her  toward   a   little   landing-  » 
place,  formed  by  a  small  brook  w^hich  enters  the  sea  be-  | 
twixt  Musselburgh  and  Edinburgh.    This  place,  which  has  : 
been  since  made  into  a  small  harbor,  surrounded  by  many 
villas  and  lodging-houses,  is  now  termed  Portobello.     At 
this  time  it  was  surrounded  by  a  waste  common,  covered 
with  furze,  and  unfrequented,  save  by  fishing-boats,  and 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  505 

now  and  then  a  smuggling  lugger.  A  vessel  of  this  de- 
scription had  been  hovering  in  the  firth  at  .he  time  of 
Efiie's  elopement,  and,  as  Butler  ascertained,  a  boat  had 
come  ashore  in  the  evening  on  which  the  fugitive  had 
disappeared,  and  had  carried  on  board  a  female.  As  the 
vessel  made  sail  immediately,  and  landed  no  part  of  their 
cargo,  there  seemed  little  doubt  that  they  were  accomplices 
of  the  notorious  Robertson,  and  that  the  vessel  had  only 
come  into  the  tirth  to  carry  off  his  paramour. 

This  was  made  clear  by  a  letter  which  Butler  himself 
soon  afterward  received  by  post,  signed  E.  D.,  but  with- 
out bearing  any  date  of  place  or  time.  It  was  miserably  ill 
\\ritten  and  spelled;  sea-sickness  having  apparently  aided 
the  derangement  of  Effie's  very  irregular  orthography  and 
mode  of  expression.  In  this  epistle,  however,  as  in  all  that 
that  unfortunate  girl  said  or  did,  there  was  something  to 
praise  as  well  as  to  blame.  She  said  in  her  letter,  '^That 
she  could  not  endure  that  her  father  and  her  sister  should 
go  into  banishment,  or  be  partakers  of  her  shame — that 
if  her  burden  was  a  heavy  one,  it  was  of  her  own  binding, 
and  she  had  the  more  right  to  bear  it  alone, — that  in 
future  they  could  not  be  a  comfort  to  her,  or  she  to  them, 
since  every  look  and  word  of  her  father  put  her  in  mind 
of  her  transgression,  and  was  like  to  drive  her  mad, — that 
she  had  nearly  lost  her  judgment  during  the  three  days  she 
was  at  St.  Leonard's — her  father  meant  weel  bj'  her,  and  all 
men,  but  he  did  not  know  the  dreadful  pain  he  gave  her  in 
casting  up  her  sins.  If  Jeanie  had  been  at  hame,  it  might 
hae  dune  better — Jeanie  was  ane,  like  the  angels  in  heaven, 
that  rather  weep  for  sinners,  than  reckon  their  trans- 
gressions. But  she  should  never  see  Jeanie  ony  mair, 
and  that  was  the  thought  that  gave  her  the  sairest  heart 
of  a'  that  had  come  and  gane  yet.  On  her  bended  knees 
would  she  pray  for  Jeanie,  night  and  day,  baith  for  what 
she  had  done,  and  what  she  had  scorned  to  do,  in  her  be- 
half; for  what  a  thought  would  it  have  been  to  her  at  that 
moment  o'  time,  if  that  upright  creature  had  made  a  fault 
to  save  her!  She  desired  her  lather  would  give  Jeanie  a' 
the  gear — her  ain  (i.e.,  Effie's)  mother's  and  a' — She  had 
made  a  deed,  giving  up  her  right,  and  it  was  in  Mr. 
Novit's  hand — Warld's  gear  was  henceforward  the  least  of 
her  care,  nor  was  it  likely  to  be  niuckle  her  mister — She 


506  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

hoped  this  would  make  it  easy  for  her  sister  to  settle;" 
and  immediately  after  this  expression,  she  wished  Butler 
himself  all  good  things,  in  return  for  his  kindness  to  her. 
"For  herself,"  she  said,  "she  kend  her  lot  would  be  a 
waesome  ane,  but  it  was  of  her  own  framing,  sae  she 
desired  the  less  pity.  But,  for  her  friends'  satisfaction, 
she  wished  them  to  know  that  she  was  gaun  nae  ill  gate — 
that  they  who  had  done  her  maist  wrong  were  now  willing 
to  do  her  what  justice  was  in  their  power;  and  she  would, 
in  some  warldly  respects,  be  far  better  off  than  she  de- 
served. But  she  desired  her  family  to  remain  satisfied 
with  this  assurance,  and  give  themselves  no  trouble  in 
maki'Ug  farther  inquiries  after  her." 

To  David  Deans  and  to  Butler  this  letter  gave  very 
little  comfort;  for  what  was  to  be  expected  from  this  un- 
fortunate girl's  uniting  her  fate  to  that  of  a  character  so 
notorious  as  Robertson,  who  they  readily  guessed  was 
alluded  to  in  the  last  sentence,  excepting  that  she  should 
become  the  partner  and  victim  of  his  future  crimes. 
Jeanie,  who  knew  George  Staunton's  character  and  real 
rank,  saw  her  sister's  situation  under  a  ray  of  better 
hope.  She  augured  well  of  the  haste  he  had  shown  to  re- 
claim his  interest  in  Effie,  and  she  trusted  he  had  made 
her  his  wife.  If  so,  it  seemed  improbable  that,  with  his  ex- 
pected fortune,  and  high  connections,  he  should  again 
resume  the  life  of  criminal  adventure  which  he  had  led, 
especially  since,  as  matters  stood,  his  life  depended  upon 
his  keeping  his  own  secret,  which  could  only  be  done  by 
an  entire  change  of  his  habits,  and  particularly  by  avoid- 
ing all  those  who  had  known  the  heir  of  Willingham  under 
the  character  of  the  audacious,  criminal,  and  condemned 
Bobertson. 

She  thought  it  most  likely  that  the  couple  would  go 
abroad  for  a  few  years,  and  not  return  to  England  until 
the  affair  of  Porteous  was  totally  forgotten.  Jeanie,  there- 
fore, saw  more  hopes  for  her  sister  than  Butler  or  her 
father  had  been  able  to  perceive ;  but  she  was  not  at  liberty 
to  impart  the  comfort  which  she  felt  in  believing  that  she 
would  be  secure  from  the  pressure  of  poverty,  and  in  little 
risk  of  being  seduced  into  the  paths  of  guilt.  She  could 
not  have  explained  this  without  making  public  what  it 
was  essentially  necessary  for  Effie's  chance  of  comfort  to 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  507 

conceal,  the  identity,  namely,  of  Georpre  Staunton  and 
Ceorpe  Robertson.  After  all,  it  was  dreadful  to  think 
that  Effie  had  united  herself  to  a  man  condemned  for 
felony,  and  liable  to  trial  for  murder,  whatever  might  be 
his  rank  in  life,  and  the  degree  of  his  repentance.  Be- 
sides, it  was  melancholy  to  reflect,  that,  she  herself  being: 
in  possession  of  the  whole  dreadful  secret,  it  was  most 
])robable  he  would,  out  of  regard  to  his  own  feelings,  and 
fear  for  his  safety,  never  again  permit  her  to  see  poor 
Effie.  After  perusing  and  re-perusing  her  sister's  vale- 
dictory letter,  she  gave  ease  to  her  feelings  in  a  flood  of 
tears,  which  Butler  in  vain  endeavored  to  check  by  every 
soothing  attention  in  his  power.  She  was  obliged,  how- 
ever, at  length  to  look  up  and  wipe  her  eyes,  for  her  father, 
thinking  he  had  allowed  the  lovers  time  enough  for  con- 
ference, was  now  advancing  toward  them  from  the  Lodge, 
accompanied  by  the  Captain  of  Knockdunder,  or,  as  his 
friends  called  him  for  brevity's  sake,  Duncan  Knock,  a 
title  which  some  youthful  exploits  had  rendered  peculiarly 
ai)])roj)riate. 

This  Duncan  of  Knockdunder  was  a  person  of  first-rate 
importance  in  the  island  of  Roseneath,  and  the  conti- 
nental parishes  of  Knocktarlitic,  Kilmun,  and  so  forth; 
nay,  his  influence  extended  as  far  as  Cowal,  where,  how- 
ever, it  was  obscured  by  that  of  another  factor.  The 
Tower  of  Knockdunder  still  occupies,  with  its  remains,  a 
clitF  overhanging  the  Holy  Loch.  Duncan  swore  it  had 
been  a  royal  castle;  if  so,  it  was  one  of  the  smallest,  the 
space  within  only  forming  a  square  of  sixteen  feet,  and 
bearing  therefore  a  ridicukius  proportion  to  the  thickness 
of  the  walls,  whieh  was  ten  feet  at  least.  Sueh  as  it  was, 
however,  it  had  long  given  the  title  of  Captain,  equivalent 
to  that  of  Chatellain,  to  the  ancestors  of  Duncan,  who 
were  retainers  of  the  house  of  Argyle,  and  held  a  hen^li- 
tar\-  jurisdiction  under  them,  of  little  extent  indeed,  but 
which  had  great  consequence  in  their  own  eyes,  and  was 
usually  administered  with  a  vigor  somewhat  beyond  the 
law. 

The  jiresent  representative  of  that  ancient  family  was  a 
stout  short  man  about  fifty,  wh(tse  ])leasure  it  was  to 
unite  in  his  own  person  the  dress  of  the  Highlands  and 
Lowlands,  wearing  on  his  head  a  black  tie-wig,  surmounted 


508  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIA^T 

by  a  fierce  cocked-hat,  deeply  guarded  with  gold  lace, 
while  the  rest  of  his  dress  consisted  of  the  plaid  and 
philabeg.  Duncan  superintended  a  district  which  was 
partly  Highland,  partly  Lowland,  and  therefore  might  be 
supposed  to  combine  their  national  habits,  in  order  to 
show  his  impartiality  to  Trojan  or  Tyrian.  The  incon- 
gruity, however,  had  a  whimsical  and  ludicrous  effect,  as 
it  made  his  head  and  body  look  as  if  belonging  to  different 
individuals;  or,  as  some  one  said  who  had  seen  the  ex- 
ecutions of  the  insurgent  prisoners  in  1715,  it  seemed  as 
if  some  Jacobite  enchanter,  having  recalled  the  sufferers 
to  life,  had  clapped,  in  his  haste,  an  Englishman's  head  on 
a  Highlander's  body.  To  finish  the  portrait,  the  bearing 
of  the  gracious  Duncan  was  brief,  bluff,  and  consequential, 
and  the  upward  turn  of  his  short  copper-colored  nose  indi- 
cated that  he  was  somewhat  addicted  to  wrath  and  j 
usquebaugh.  * 

When  this  dignitary  had  advanced  up  to  Butler  and 
to  Jeanie,  "I  take  the  freedom,  Mr.  Deans,"  he  said,  in  a 
very  consequential  manner,  "to  salute  your  daughter,  whilk 
I  presume  this  young  lass  to  be — I  kiss  every  pretty  girl 
that  comes  to  Roseneath,  in  virtue  of  my  office."     Having 
made  this  gallant  speech,  he  took  out  his  quid,  saluted    "^ 
Jeanie  with  a  hearty  smack,   and  bade  her  welcome  to   | 
Argyle's  country.     Then  addressing  Butler,  he  said,  "Ye    / 
maun  gang  ower  and  meet  the  carle  ministers  yonder  the 
morn,  for  they  will  want  to  do  your  job,  and  synd  it  down 
with  usquebaugh  doubtless — they  seldom  make  dry  wark 
in  this  kintra." 

"And   the    Laird "    said    David   Deans,    addressing 

Butler   in   further   explanation. 

"The  Captain,  man,"  interrupted  Duncan;  "folk  winna 
ken  wha  ye  are  speaking  aboot,  unless  ye  gie  shentlemens  , 
their  proper  title." 

"The  Captain,  then,"  said  David,  "assures  me  that  the 
call  is  unanimous  on  the  part  of  the  parishioners — a  real 
harmonious   call,   Reuben." 

"I  pelieve,"  said  Duncan,  "it  was  as  harmonious  as 
could  pe  expected,  when  the  tae  half  o'  the  bodies  were 
clavering  Sassenach,  and  the  t'other  skirling  Gaelic,  like 
sea-maws  and  clack-geese  before  a  storm.  Ane  wad  hae 
needed  the  gift  of  tongues  to  ken  preceesely  what  they 


I 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  509 

said — but  I  pelieve  the  best  end  of  it  was,  Tiong-  live  Mac- 
Calliimmore  and  Knockdunder!' — And  as  to  its  being  a 
Tinanimoiis  call,  I  wad  be  glad  to  ken  fat  business  the 
carles  have  to  call  onything  or.onybody  but  what  the  Duke 
and  mysell  likes  ?'' 

^'Nevertheless,"  said  Mr.  Butler,  "if  any  of  the  parish- 
ioners have  any  scruples,  which  sometimes  happen  in  the 
mind  of  sincere  professors,  I  should  be  happy  of  an  op- 
portunity of  trying  to  remove " 

''Xever  fash  your  peard  about  it,  man,"  interrupted 
Duncan  Knock — "Leave  it  a'  to  me, — Scruple!  deil  ane  o' 
them  has  been  bred  up  to  scruple  onything  that  they're 
bidden  to  do.  And  if  sic  a  thing  suld  happen  as  ye  speak 
o',  ye  sail  see  the  sincere  professor,  as  ye  ca'  him,  towed 
at  the  stern  of  my  boat  for  a  few  furlongs.  I'll  try  if  the 
water  of  the  Haly  Loch  winna  wash  off  scruples  as  weel 
as  fleas — Cot  tam! " 

The  rest  of  Duncan's  threat  was  lost  in  a  growling, 
gurgling  sort  of  sound,  which  he  made  in  his  throat,  and 
which  menaced  recusants  with  no  gentle  means  of  con- 
version. David  Deans  would  certainly  have  given  battle 
in  defence  of  the  right  of  the  Christian  congregation  to 
be  consulted  in  the  choice  of  their  own  pastor,  which,  in 
his  estimation,  was  one  of  the  choicest  and  most  inalien- 
able of  their  privileges ;  but  he  had  again  engaged  in  close 
conversation  with  Jeanie,  and,  with  more  interest  than  he 
was  in  use  to  take  in  affairs  foreign  alike  to  his  occupa- 
tion and  to  his  religious  tenets,  was  inquiring  into  the 
particulars  of  her  London  journey.  This  was,  perhaps, 
fortunate  for  the  new-formed  friendship  betwixt  him  and 
the  Captain  of  Knockdunder,  which  rested,  in  David's 
estimation,  upon  the  proofs  he  had  given  of  his  skill  in 
managing  stock;  but,  in  reality,  upon  the  special  charge 
transmitted  to  Duncan  from  the  Duke  and  his  agent,  to 
behave  with  the  utmost  attention  to  Deans  and  his  family. 

"And  now,  sirs,"  said  Duncan,  in  a  commanding  tone, 
"I  am  to  pray  ye  a'  to  come  into  your  supper,  for  yonder 
is  Mr.  Archibald  half  famished,  and  a  Saxon  woman,  that 
looks  as  if  her  een  were  fleeing  out  o'  her  head  wi'  fear 
and  wonder,  as  if  she  had  never  seen  a  shentleman  in  a 
philabeg  pefore." 

"And  Reuben  Butler,"  said  David,  "will  doubtless  de- 


510        .    THE   HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

sire  instantly  to  retire,  that  he  may  prepare  his  mind  for 
the  exercise  of  to-morrow,  that  his  work  may  suit  the  day, 
and  be  an  offering  of  a  sweet  savor  in  the  nostrils  of  the 
reverend  Presbytery." 

"Hout  tout,  man,  it's  but  little  ye  ken  about  them," 
interrupted  the  Captain.  "Teil  a  ane  o'  them  wad  gie 
the  savor  of  the  hot  venison  pasty  which  I  smell"  (turning 
his  squab  nose  up  in  the  air)  "a'  the  way  frae  the  Lodge, 
for  a'  that  Mr.  Putler,  or  you  either,  can  say  to  them." 

David  groaned ;  but  judging  he  had  to  do  with'  a  Gallio, 
as  he  said,  did  not  think  it  worth  his  while  to  give  battle. 
They  followed  the  Captain  to  the  house,  and  arranged 
themselves  with  great  ceremony  round  a  well-loaded  sup- 
per-table. The  only  other  circumstance  of  the  evening 
worthy  to  be  recorded  is,  that  Butler  pronounced  the 
blessing;  that  Knockdunder  found  it  too  long,  and  David 
Deans  censured  it  as  too  short,  from  which  the  charitable 
reader  may  conclude  it  was  exactly  the  proper  length. 


CHAPTEE    XLV 

Now  turn  the  Psalms  of  David  ower, 

And  lilt  wi'  holy  clangor; 
Of _  double  verse  come  gie  us  four, 

And   skirl  up  the   Bangor. 

Burns. 

The  next  was  the  important  day,  when,  according  to  the 
forms  and  ritual  of  the  Scottish  Kirk,  Reuben  Butler  was 
to  be  ordained  minister  of  Knocktarlitie  by  the  Presbytery 

of  .     And  so  eager  were  the  whole  party,  that  all, 

excepting  Mrs.  Dutton,  the  destined  Cowslip  of  Inverary, 
were  stirring  at  an  early  hour. 

Their  host,  whose  appetite  was  as  quick  and  keen  as  his 
temper,  was  not  long  in  summoning  them  to  a  substantial 
breakfast,  where  there  were  at  least  a  dozen  different 
preparations  of  milk,  plenty  of  cold  meat,  scores  boiled 
and  roasted  eggs,  a  huge  cag  of  butter,  half  a  firkin  her- 
rings briled  and  broiled,  fresh  and  salt,  and  tea  and  coffee 
for  them  that  liked  it,  which,  as  their  landlord  assured 
them,  with  a  nod  and  a  wink,  pointing,  at  the  same  time, 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  511 

to  a  little  cutter  which  seemed  dodging  under  the  lee  of 
the  island,  cost  them  little  besides  the  fetching  ashore. 

"Is  the  contraband  trade  permitted  here  so  openly  ?" 
said  Butler.  'T  should  think  it  verj'  unfavorable  to  the 
people's  morals." 

"The  Duke,  Mr.  Putler,  has  gien  nae  orders  concerning 
the  putting  of  it  down,"  said  the  magistrate,  and  seemed 
to  think  that  he  had  said  all  that  was  necessary  to  justify 
his   connivance. 

Butler  was  a  man  of  prudence,  and  aware  that  real  good 
can  only  be  obtained  by  remonstrance  when  remonstrance 
is  well-timed;  so  for  the  present  he  said  nothing  more  on 
the  subject. 

When  breakfast  was  half  over,  in  flounced  Mrs.  Dolly, 
as  fine  as  a  blue  sacque  and  cherry-colored  ribbands  could 
make  her. 

''Good  morrow  to  you,  madam,"  said  the  master  of 
ceremonies;  "I  trust  your  early  rising  will  not  skaith  ye." 

The  dame  apologized  to  Captain  Knockunder,  as  she 
was  pleased  to  term  their  entertainer;  ''but,  as  we  say  in 
Cheshire,"  she  added,  "I  was  like  the  ^layor  of  Altring- 
ham,  who  lies  in  bed  while  his  breeches  are  mending,  for 
the  girl  did  not  bring  up  the  right  bundle  to  my  room,  till 
she  had  brought  up  all  the  others  by  mistake  one  after 
t'other. — Well,  I  suppose  we  are  all  for  church  to-day,  as 
I  understand — Pray  may  I  be  so  bold  as  to  ask,  if  it  is 
the  fashion  for  you  Xorth-country  gentlemen  to  go  to 
church  in  your  petticoats.  Captain  Knockunder?" 

''Caj^tain  of  Knockdunder,  madam,  if  you  please,  for  I 
knock  under  to  no  man;  and  in  respect  of  my  garb,  T  shall 
go  to  church  as  I  am,  at  your  service,  madam;  for  if  I 
were  to  lie  in  bed  like  your  Major  What-d'ye-callum,  till 
my  preeches  were  mended,  I  might  be  there  all  my  life. 
seeing  I  never  had  a  pair  of  them  on  my  person  but  twice 
in  my  life,  which  I  am  proud  to  remember,  it  peing  when 
the  Duke  brought  his  Duchess  here,  when  her  Grace  pe- 
hoved  to  be  pleasured;  so  I  e'en  porrowed  the  minister's 
trews  for  the  twa  days  his  Grace  was  pleased  to  stay — but 
I  will  put  myself  under  sic  confinement  agaii^  for  no 
man  on  earth,  or  woman  either,  but  her  Grace  being 
always  excepted,  as  in  duty  pound." 

The  mistress  of  the  milking-pail  stared,  but.  making  no 


512  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

answer  to  this  round  declaration,  immediately  proceeded 
to  show,  that  the  alarm  of  the  preceding  evening  had  in 
no  degree  injured  her  appetite. 

When  the  meal  was  finished,  the  Captain  proposed  to 
them  to  take  boat,  in  order  that  Mistress  Jeanie  might  see 
her  new  place  of  residence,  and  that  he  himself  might  in- 
quire whether  the  necessary  preparations  had  been  made 
there,  and  at  the  Manse,  for  receiving  the  future  inmates 
of  these  mansions. 

The  morning  was  delightful,  and  the  huge  mountain- 
shadows  slept  upon  the  mirror'd  wave  of  the  firth,  almost 
as  little  disturbed  as  if  it  had  been  an  inland  lake.  Even 
Mrs.  Button's  fears  no  longer  annoyed  her.  She  had  been 
informed  by  Archibald,  that  there  was  to  be  some  sort 
of  junketting  after  the  sermon,  and  that  was  what  she 
loved  dearly;  and  as  for  the  water,  it  was  so  still  that  it 
would   look   quite  like  a  pleasuring  on  the   Thames. 

The  whole  party  being  embarked,  therefore,  in  a  large 
boat,  which  the  captain  called  his  coach  and  six,  and  at- 
tended by  a  smaller  one  termed  his  gig,  the  gallant 
Duncan  steered  straight  upon  the  little  tower  of  the  old- 
fashioned  church  of  Knocktarlitie,  and  the  exertions  of 
six  stout  rowers  sped  them  rapidly  on  their  voyage.  As 
they  neared  the  land,  the  hills  appeared  to  recede  from 
them,  and  a  little  valley,  formed  by  the  descent  of  a  small 
river  from  the  mountains,  evolved  itself  as  it  were  upon 
their  approach.  The  style  of  the  country  on  each  side  was 
simply  pastoral,  and  resembled,  in  appearance  and  char- 
acter, the  description  of  a  forgotten  Scottish  poet,  which 
runs  nearly  thus: — 

"The  water  gently  do\vn  a  level  slid. 
With  little  din,  but  coiithy  what  it  made ; 
On  ilka  side  the  trees  grew  thick  and  lang. 
And  wi'  the  v.ild  birds'  notes  were  a'  in  sang; 
On  either  side,  a  full  bow-shot  and  mair, 
The  green  was  even,  gowany,  and  fair; 
With  easy  slope  on  every  hand  the  braes 
To  the  hills'  feet  with  scattered  bushes  raise; 
With  goats  and  sheep  aboon,  and  kye  below, 
The  bonny  banks  all  in  a  swarm  did  go."  * 

*  Ross's  Fortunate  Shepherdess.      Edit.    1778,  p.  23. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  513 

They  landed  in  this  Highland  Arcadia,  at  the  mouth 
f  the  small  stream  which  watered  the  delightful  and 
?aceable  valley.  Inhabitants  of  several  descriptions  came 
)  pay  their  respects  to  the  Captain  of  Knockdunder.  a 
omage  which  he  was  very  peremptory  in  exacting,  and  to 
'c  the  new  settlers.  Some  of  these  were  men  after  David 
•eans's  own  heart,  elders  of  the  kirk-session,  zealous  pro- 
'ssors.  from  the  Lennox,  Lanarkshire,  and  x\yrshire,  to 
hom  the  preceding  Duke  of  Argyle  had  given  rooms  in 
lis  corner  of  his  estate,  because  they  had  suffered  for 
(ining  his  father,  the  unfortunate  Earl,  during  his  ill- 
ited  attempt  in  168G.  These  were  cakes  of  the  right 
aven  for  David  regaling  himself  with;  and,  had  it  not 
ien  for  this  circumstance,  he  has  been  heard  to  say, 
:hat  the  Captain  of  Knockdunder  would  have  swore  him 
jt  of  the  country  in  twenty-four  hours,  sae  awsome  it 
as  to  ony  thinking  soul  to  hear  his  imprecations  upon 
le  slightest  temptation   that  crossed  his  humor." 

Besides  these,  there  were  a  wilder  set  of  parishioners, 
lountaineers  from  the  upper  glen  and  adjacent  hill,  who 
)oke  Gaelic,  went  about  armed,  and  wore  the  Highland 
ress.  But  the  strict  commands  of  the  Duke  had  estab- 
shed  such  good  order  in  this  part  of  his  territories,  that 
le  Gael  and  Saxons  lived  upon  the  best  possible  terms  of 
)od   neighborhood. 

They  first  visited  the  ^NFanse,  as  the  parsonage  is  termed 
I   Scotland.     It  was  old,  but   in  good   repair,   and   stood 
lugly  embosomed  in  a  grove  of  sycamore,  with  a  well- 
ocked  garden  in  front,  bounded  by  the  small  river,  wHich 
as  partly  visible  from  the  windows,  partly  concealed  by 
le  bushes,  trees,  and  bounding  hedge.     Within,  the  house 
oked   less  comfortable  than   it  might   have  been,   for   it 
ad  been  neglected  by  the  late  incumbent;  but  workmen 
id  been  laboring  imdor  the  directions  of  the  Captain  of 
nockdunder.  and  at  the  ex])ense  of  the  Duke  of  Argyl'. 
>  put  it  into  some  order.     The  old  "plenishing"  ha<l  ^een 
amoved,    and   neat,    but    i)lain    household    furnitutj    had 
?en  sent  down  by  the  Duke  in  a  brig  of  his  ovn,  called 
le  Caroline,  and   was  now  ready   to   be  place/  in   order 
L  the  apartments. 

The  gracious  Duncan,  finding  mattjrs  v^'re  at  a  stand 
nong   the   workmen,    summoned    before  him    the   delin- 


514  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAX  M 

quents    and  impressed  all  who  heard  him  with  a  sense  of 
his  authority,  by  the  penalties  with  which  he  threatened* 
them  for  the.r  delay.    Mulcting  them  in  half  their  char  ' 
he  assured  them,  would  be  the  least  of  it;  for,  if  they  were 
to  neglect   his   pleasure   and   the  Duke's,    "he   would   be 
tamn  d  if  he  paid  them  the  t'other  half  either,  and  they 
might  seek  law  for  it  where  they  could  get  it."    The  work^ ' 
people  humbled  themselves  before  the  offended  dignitary 
and  spake  him  soft  and  fair;   and  at  length,  upon  3iS' 
Butler  recalling  to  his  mind  that  it  was  ?he  ordination 
day,  and  that  the  workmen  were  probably  thinking  of  goin^ 
to  church,  Knockdunder  agreed  to  forgive  them    out  of 
respect  to  their  new  minister.  ' 

"But  an  I  catch  them  neglecking  my  duty  again    Mr 
Putler,  the  teil  pe  in  me  if  the  kirk  shall  be  aS  excuse 
for  what  has  the  like  o'  them  rapparees  to  do  at  the  kirk 
ony  day  put  Sundays,  or  then  either,  if  the  Duke  and  I 
has  the  necessitous  uses  for  them? 

It  may  be  guessed  with  what  feelings  of  quiet  satisfar- 
tion  and  delight  Butler  looked  forwa^rd  toTendTng  his 
days  honored  and  useful  as  he  trusted  to  be,  in  this  se- 
questered valley,  and  how  often  an  intelligent  glance  was 
exchanged  betwixt  him  and  Jeanie,  whosf  good  humoTed 
face  looked  positively  handsome,  from  the  expression  of 
modesty,  and,  at  the  same  time,  of  satisfaction,  which 
she  wore  when  visiting  the  apartments  of  which  she  was 
soon  to  call  herself  mistress.  She  was  left  at  liberty  to 
give  more  open  indulgence  to  her  feelings  of  delight  and 
admiration,  when,  leaving  the  Manse,  the  company  pro 
Deans  ^^^^^^^    ^^^    destined    habitation    of    David 

Joanie  found  with  pleasure  that  it  was  not  above  a 
musket-shot  from  the  Manse;  for  it  had  beenTbar  to  her 
m^pine^s  to  think  she  might  be  obliged  to  reside  at  a 
o  sttuce  from  her  father,  and  she  was  aware  that  there 
we.,'  s.Y,ng  objections  to  his  actually  living  in  the  sam^ 
house  w.n  Butler.  But  this  brief  distance^was  the  ve^ 
thing  whi(h  oha  could  have  wished.  ^ 

taie  and  conT''i''''.i,'^  ^^'  ^^"^  ^^  ^^  improved  cot- 
excellent  mtle  I  7'^^  great  regard  to  convenience;  an 
excellent  Uttle  g.rdea,  an  orchard,  and  a  set  of  officer 
complete,  according  to  the  best  ideas  of  the  time,  combted 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  515 

to  render  it  a  most  desirable  habitation  for  the  practical 
farmer,  and  far  superior  to  the  hovel  at  AYoodend,  and  the 
gmall  house  at  Saint  Leonard's  Crapes.  The  situation  was 
considerably  hijrher  than  that  of  the  Manse,  and  fronted 
to  the  west.  The  windows  commanded  an  enchanting 
view  of  the  little  vale  over  which  the  mansion  seemed  to 
preside,  the  windings  of  the  stream,  and  the  firth,  with  its 

sociated  lakes  and  romantic  islands.  The  hills  of  Dum- 
bartonshire, once  possessed  by  the  fierce  clan  of  Mac- 
Farlanes,  formed  a  crescent  behind  the  valley,  and  far 
to  the  right  were  seen  the  dusky  and  more  gigantic 
mountains  of  Argyleshire,  with  a  seaward  view  of  the 
shattered  and  thunder-splitten  peaks  of  Arran. 

But  to  Jeanie,  whose  taste  for  the  picturesque,  if  she 
bad  any  by  nature,  had  ever  been  awakened  or  cultivated, 
the  sight  of  the  faithful  old  May  Hettly,  as  she  opened  the 
door  to  receive  them  in  her  clean  toy,  Sunday's  russet- 
jown,  and  blue  apron,  nicely  smoothed  down  before  her, 
5\'as  worth  the  whole  varied  landscape.  The  raptures  of 
the  faithful  old  creature  at  seeing  Jeanie  were  equal  to 
tier  own,  as  she  hastened  to  assure  her,  "that  baith  the 
QTudeman  and  the  beasts  had  been  as  weel  seen  after  as 
she  possibly  could  contrive."  Separating  her  from  the 
rest  of  the  company.  May  then  hurried  her  young  mistress 
to  the  offices,  that  she  might  receive  the  compliments  she 
expected  for  her  care  of  the  cows.  Jeanie  rejoiced,  in  the 
simplicity  of  her  heart,  to  see  her  charge  once  more;  and 
the  mute  favorites  of  our  heroine,  Gowans,  and  the  others, 
acknowledged  her  presence  by  lowing,  turning  round  their 
broad  and  decent  brows  when  they  heard  her  well-known 
Pruh,  mj^  leddy — pruh,  my  woman,"  and,  by  various 
indications,  known  only  to  those  who  have  studied  the 
nabits  of  the  milky  mothers,  showing  si^nsible  pleasure  as 
she  approached  to  caress  them  in  their  turn. 

"The  very  brut^  beasts  are  glad  to  see  ye  again,"  said 
^^ay;  "but  nae  wonder,  Jeanie,  for  ye  were  aye  kind  to 
beast  and  body.  And  I  maun  learn  to  ca'  ye  mistress 
now.  Jeanie,  since  ye  hae  been  up  to  Lunnon,  and  seen 
the  Duke,  and  the  King,  and  a'  the  braw  folk.  But  wha 
kens,"  added  the  old  dame  slyly,  "what  I'll  hae  to  ca'  ye 
forby  mistress,  for  I  am  thinking  it  wunna  lang  be 
Deans." 


516      •     THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

"Ca'  nie  your  aine  Jeanie,  May,  and  then  ye  can  never 
gang   wrang." 

In  the  cow-house  which  they  examined,  there  was  one 
animal  which  Jeanie  looked  at  till  the  tears  gushed  from 
her  eyes.  May,  who  had  watched  her  with  a  sympathizing 
expression,  immediately  observed,  in  an  undertone,  "The 
gudeman  aye  sorts  that  beast  himsell,  and  is  kinder  to  it 
than  ony  beast  in  the  byre ;  and  I  noticed  he  was  that  way 
e'en  when  he  was  angriest,  and  had  maist  cause  to  be 
angry. — Eh,  sirs !  a  parent's  heart's  a  queer  thing ! — Mony 
a  warsle  he  has  had  for  that  puir  lassie — I  am  thinking  he 
petitions  mair  for  her  than  for  yoursell,  hinny;  for  what 
can  he  plead  for  you  but  just  to  wish  you  the  blessing  ye 
deserve?  And  when  I  sleepit  ayont  the  hallan,  when  we 
came  first  here,  he  was  often  earnest  a'  night,  and  I  could 
hear  him  come  ower  and  ower  again  wi',  'Effie — puir 
blinded  misguided  thing!'  it  was  aye  'Effie!  Effie!' — If 
that  puir  wandering  lamb  comna  into  the  sheepfauld  in 
the  Shepherd's  ain  time,  it  will  be  ^n  unco  wonder,  for  I  j 
wot  she  has  been  a  child  of  prayers.  Oh,  if  the  puir  | 
prodigal  wad  return,  sae  blithely  as  the  goodman  wad  kill  f 
the  fatted  calf ! — though  Brockie's  calf  will  no  be  fit  for  j|| 
killing  this  three  weeks  yet."  *  J  \ 

And  then,  with  the  discursive  talent  of  persons  of  her 
description,  she  got  once  more  afloat  in  her  account  of 
domestic  affairs,  and  left  this  delicate  and  affecting 
topic.  ^ 

Having  looked  at  everything  in  the  offices  and  the 
dairy,  and  expressed  her  satisfaction  with  the  manner  in 
which  matters  had  been  managed  in  her  absence,  Jeanie 
rejoined  the  rest  of  the  party,  who  were  surveying  the 
interior  of  the  house,  all  excepting  David  Deans  and 
Butler,  who  had  gone  down  to  the  church  to  meet  the 
kirk-session  and  the  clergyman  of  the  Presbytery,  and 
arrange  matters  for  the  duty  of  the  day. 

In  the  interior  of  the  cottage  all  was  clean,  neat,  and 
suitable  to  the  exterior.  It  had  been  originally  built  and 
furnished  by  the  Duke,  as  a  retreat  for  a  favorite  domestic 
of  the  higher  class,  who  did  not  long  enjoy  it,  and  had 
been  dead  only  a  few  months,  so  that  everything  was  in 
excellent  taste  and  good  order.  But  in  Jeanie's  bedroom 
was  a  neat  trunk,  which  had  greatly  excited  Mrs.  Dutton's 


I 


THE    HEART    OF    :MID-L()TIIIAX  517 

curiosity,  for  she  was  sure  tliat  the  direction,  "For  ^frs. 
Jean  Deans,  at  Auchingower,  parish  of  Knocktarlitie," 
was  the  writing  of  Mrs.  Seriiple,  the  Duchess's  own 
woman.  May  Hettly  produced  the  key  in  a  sealed  parcel, 
which  bore  the  same  address,  and  attached  to  the  key 
was  a  label,  intimating  that  the  trunk  and  its  contents 
were  '*a  token  of  remembrance  to  Jeanie  Deans,  from  her 
friends  the  Duchess  of  Argyle  and  the  young  ladies." 
The  trunk,  hastily  opened,  as  the  reader  will  not  doubt, 
was  found  to  be  full  of  wearing  apparel  of  the  best 
quality,  suited  to  Jeanie's  rank  in  life;  and  to  most  of 
the  articles  the  names  of  the  particular  donors  were  at- 
tached, as  if  to  make  Jeanie  sensible  not  only  of  the 
general,  but  of  the  individual  interest  she  had  excited  in 
the  noble  family.  To  name  the  various  articles  by  their 
appropriate  names,  would  be  to  attempt  things  unat- 
tempted  yet  in  prose  or  rhyme;  besides,  that  the  old- 
fashioned  terms  of  manteaus,  sacques,  kissing-strings,  and 
so  forth,  would  convey  but  little  information  even  to  the 
milliners  of  the  present  day.  I  shall  deposit,  however,  an 
accurate  inventory  of  the  contents  of  the  trunk  with  my 
kind  friend.  Miss  Martha  Buskbody,  who  has  promised, 
should  the  public  curiosity  seem  interested  in  the  subject, 
to  supply  me  with  a  professional  glossary  and  commentary. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  gift  was  such  as  became  the 
donors,  and  was  suited  to  the  situation  of  the  receiver; 
that  everything  was  handsome  and  appropriate,  and 
nothing  forgotten  which  belonged  to  the  wardrobe  of  a 
young  person  in  Jeanie's  situation  in  life,  the  destined 
bride  of  a  respectable  clergyman. 

Article  after  article  was  displayed,  commented  upon, 
and  admired,  to  the  wonder  of  May,  who  declared,  ''she 
didna  think  the  Queen  had  mair  or  better  claise,"  and 
somewhat  to  the  envy  of  the  northern  Cowslip.  This  un- 
amiable,  but  not  very  unnatural,  disposition  of  mind, 
broke  forth  in  sundry  unfounded  criticisms  to  the  dis- 
paragement of  the  artiolc^s,  as  they  were  severally  ex- 
hibit-ed.  Rut  it  assumed  a  more  direct  character,  when, 
at  the  bottom  of  all,  was  found  a  dress  of  white  silk,  very 
plainly  made,  but  still  of  white  silk,  and  French  silk  to 
boot,  with  a  paper  pinned  to  it,  bearing,  that  it  was  a 
present  from   the  Duke  of  Argyle  to  his  travelling  com- 


618  THE   HEAKT   OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

panion,  to  be  worn  on  the  day  when  she  should  change 
her  name. 

Mrs.  Dutton  could  forbear  no  longer,  but  whispered 
into  Mr.  Archibald's  ear,  that  it  was  a  clever  thing  to  be 
a  Scotchwoman:  "She  supposed  all  her  sisters,  and  she 
had  half-a-dozen,  might  have  been  hanged,  without  any 
one  sending  her  a  present  of  a  pocket-handkerchief." 

"Or  without  your  making  any  exertion  to  save  them, 
Mrs.  Dolly,"  answered  Archibald  dryly. — "But  I  am  sur- 
prised we  do  not  hear  the  bell  yet,"  said  he,  looking  at 
his  watch. 

"Fat  ta  deil,  Mr.  Archibald,"  answered  the  Captain  of 
Knockdunder,  "wad  ye  hae  them  ring  the  bell  before  I 
am  ready  to  gang  to  kirk? — I  wad  gar  the  bedral  eat  the 
bell-rope,  if  he  took  ony  sic  freedom.  But  if  ye  want  to 
hear  the  bell,  I  will  just  show  mysell  on  the  knowe-head, 
and  it  will  begin  jowing  forthwith." 

Accordingly,  so  soon  as  they  sallied  out,  and  that  the 
gold-laced  hat  of  the  Captain  was  seen  rising  like  Hesper 
above  the  dewy  verge  of  the  rising  ground,  the  clash  (for 
it  was  rather  a  clash  than  a  clang)  of  the  bell  was  heard 
from  the  old  moss-grown  tower,  and  the  clapper  continued 
to  thump  its  cracked  sides  all  the  while  they  advanced 
toward  the  kirk,  Duncan  exhorting  them  to  take  their  own 
time,  "for  teil  ony  sport  wad  be  till  he  came."* 

Accordingly,  the  bell  only  changed  to  final  and  impa- 
tient chime  when  they  crossed  the  stile;  and  "ranff  in," 
that  is,  concluded  its  mistuned  summons,  when  they 
had  entered  the  Duke's  seat,  in  the  little  kirk,  where  the 
whole  party  arranged  themselves,  with  Duncan  at  their 
head,  excepting  David  Deans,  who  already  occupied  a  seat 
among  the  elders. 

The  business  of  the  day,  with  a  particular  detail  of 
which  it  is  unnecessary  to  trouble  the  reader,  was  gone 
through  according  to  the  established  form,  and  the  sermon 
pronounced  upon  the  occasion  had  the  good  fortune  to 
please  even  the  critical  David  Deans,  though  it  was  only 
an  hour  and  a  quarter  long,  which  David  termed  a  short 
allowance  of  spiritual  provender. 

The  preacher,   who   was   a   divine  that  held   many   of 

*  Note  XVI. — Tolling  to  Service  in  Scotland. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTIIIAX  r,10 

David's  opinions;,  privately  apologized  for  his  brevity  by 
sayinp,  "Tiiat  he  observed  the  Captain  was  panting;  griev- 
ously, that  if  he  had  detained  him  longer,  there  was  no 
knowing  how  long  he  might  be  in  paying  the  next  term's 
vietual   stipend." 

David  groaned  to  find  that  sueh  carnal  motives  could 
have  intluenee  upon  the  mind  of  a  powerful  preacher.  He 
had,  indeed,  been  scandalized  by  another  circumstance 
during  the  service. 

So  soon  as  the  congregation  -were  seated  after  prayers, 
and  the  clergyman  had  read  his  text,  the  gracious  Duncan, 
after  rummaging  the  leathern  purse  which  hung  in  front 
of  his  petticoat,  produced  a  short  tobacco-pipe  made  of 
iron,  and  observed,  almost  aloud,  "I  hae  forgotten  my 
spleuchan — Lachlan.  gang  down  to  the  Clachan,  and  bring 
me  a  penny-worth  of  twist.''  Six  arms,  the  nearest  -within 
reach,  presented,  with  an  obedient  start,  as  many  tobacco- 
pouches  to  the  man  of  office.  He  made  choice  of  one  with 
a  nod  of  acknowledgment,  filled  his  pipe,  lighted  it  with 
the  assistance  of  his  pistol-flint,  and  smoked  with  infinite 
composure  during  the  whole  time  of  the  sermon.  When 
the  discourse  was  finished,  he  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe,  replaced  it  in  its  sporran,  returned  the  tobacco- 
pouch  or  spleuchan  to  its  owner,  and  joined  in  the  prayer 
with  decency  and  attention. 

At  the  end  of  the  service,  when  Butler  had  been- admit- 
ted minister  of  the  kirk  of  Knocktarlitie,  \vith  all  its 
spiritual  immunities  and  privileges,  David,  who  had 
frowned,  groaned,  and  murmured  at  Knockdunder's  ir- 
reverent demeanor,  communicated  his  plain  thoughts  of 
the  matter  to  Isaac  IMeiklehose.  one  of  the  elders,  with 
whom  a  reverential  aspect  and  huge  grizzle  wig  had  es- 
pecially disposed  him  to  seek  fraternization.  "It  didna 
become  a  wild  Indian,"  David  said,  "much  less  a  Chris- 
tian, and  a  gentleman,  to  sit  in  the  kirk  puffing  tobacco- 
reek,  as  if  he  were  in  'a  change-house." 

Meiklehose  shook  his  head,  and  allowed  it  was  "far  frae 
beseeming — But  what  will  ye  say?  The  Captain's  a  queer 
hand,  and  to  speak  to  him  about  that  or  onything  else 
that  crosses  the  maggot,  wad  be  to  set  the  kiln  a-low.  He 
keeps  a  high  hand  ower  the  country,  and  we  couldna  deal 
wi'  the  Hielandmen  without  his  i)rot<'<'tion,  sin'  a'  the  keys 


520  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

o'  tlie  kintray  hings  at  his  belt;  and  he's  no  an  ill  body 
in  the  main,  and  maistry,  ye  ken,  maws  the  meadows 
doun." 

''That  may  be  very  true,  neigbor."  said  David;  "but 
Reuben  Butler  isna  the  man  I  take  him  to  be,  if  he  disna 
learn  the  Captain  to  fuff  his  pipe  some  other  gate  than 
in  God's  house,  or  the  quarter  be  ower." 

"Fair  and  softly  gangs  far,"  said  Meiklehose;  "and  if  a 
fule  may  gie  a  wise  man  a  counsel,  I  wad  hae  him  think 
twice  or  he  mells  wi'  Knockdunder — He  suld  hae  a  lang- 
shankit  spune  that  wad  sup  kail  wi'  the  deil.  But  they 
are  a'way  to  their  dinner  to  the  change-house,  and  if  we 
dinna  mend  our  pace,  we'll  come  short  at  meal-time." 

David  accompanied  his  friend  without  answer;  but 
began  to  feel  from  experience,  that  the  glen  of  Knock- 
tarlitie,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  was  haunted  by  its 
own  special  subjects  of  regret  and  discontent.  His  mind 
was  so  much  occupied  by  considering  the  best  means  of 
converting  Duncan  of  Knock  to  a  sense  of  reverent  de- 
cency during  public  worship,  that  he  altogether  forgot  to 
inquire,  whether  Butler  was  called  upon  to  subscribe  the 
oaths  to  government. 

Some  have  insinuated,  that  his  neglect  on  this  head  war, 
in  some  degree,  intentional ;  but  I  think  this  explanatio  i 
inconsistent  with  the  simplicity  of  my  fnend  David"'^ 
character.  Neither  have  I  ever  been  able,  iDy  the  most 
minute  inquiries,  to  know  whether  the  formula,  at  which 
he  so  much  scrupled,  had  been  exacted  from  Butler,  aye 
or  no.  The  books  of  the  kirk-session  might  have  thrown 
some  light  on  this  matter;  but  unfortunately  they  were 
destroyed  in  the  year  1746,  by  one  Donacha  Dhu  na 
Dunaigh,  at  the  instance,  it  was  said,  or  at  least  by  the 
connivance,  of  the  gracious  Duncan  of  Knock,  who  had 
a  desire  to  obliterate  the  recorded  foibles  of  a  certain 
Kate  Finlayson. 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  521 


CHAPTER    XLVI 

Now  butt  and  ben  the  change-house   fills 

Wi'   yill-caup    co  nmentators, — 
Here's  crying  out   for  bakes  and  gills, 

And  there  the  pint-stoun  clatters, 
Wi'  thick  and   thrang,   an<i   loud  and   lang, — 

Wi'    logic   and   wi'   scripture. 
They  raise  a  din   that   in   the   end 

Is  like  to  breed  a  rupture, 

O'   wrath   that   day. 

Burns, 

A  PLENTIFUL  entertainment,  at  the  Duke  of  Argyle's  cost, 
repraled  the  reverend  g^entlemen  who  had  assisted  at  the 
ordination  of  Reuben  Butler,  and  almost  all  the  respec-   , 
table  part  of  the  parish.     The  feast  was,  indeed,  such  as  i 
the  country  itself  furnished ;   for  plenty  of  all  the   req- 
uisites for  "a  rough  and  round"  dinner  were  always  at 
Duncan   of  Knock's  command.     There  was  the  beef  and 
mutton  on  the  braes,  the  fresh  and  salt-water  fish  in  the  . 
lochs,  the  brooks,   and  firth;   game  of  every  kind,   from  , 
the  deer  to  the  leveret,  were  to  be  had  for  the  killing,  in  , 
the  Duke's  forest-s,  moors,  heaths,   and  mosses;   and  for 
liquor,  home-brewed  ale  flowed  as  freely  as  water;  brandy  ] 
and    usquebaugh    both   were    had    in    those    happy    tinges 
without  duty;  even  white  wine  and  claret  were  got  for 
nothing,   :-inee  the  Duke's  extensive   rights   of   admiralty 
gave  him  a  title  to  all  the  wine  in  cask  which  is  drifted 
ashore  on  the  western  coasts  and  isles  of  Scotland,  when 
shipping  have  sufl"ered  by  severe  weather.     In  short,  as 
Duncan    boasted,    the    entertainment    did    not    cost    Mac-  ■ 
Callummore  a  plaok  out  of  his  sporran,  and  was  neverthe-  j 
less  not  only  liberal,  but  overflowing.  I 

The  Duke's  health  was  solemnized  in  a  bona  fide 
bumper,  and  David  Deans  himself  added  perhaps  the  first  ; 
huzza  that  his  hmgs  had  ever  uttered,  to  swell  the  shout  ' 
with  which  the  pledge  was  received.  Nay,  so  exalted  in  ! 
heart  was  he  upon  this  memorable  occasion,  and  so  much  ; 
disposed  to  be  inclulgcnt,  that  he  expressed  no  dissatisfac-  ' 
tion  when  three  baL'pipers  struck  up,  "The  Camj)bells  are  <. 
coming."  The  hinilth  of  the  revenMid  minister  of  Knock-  j 
tarlitie  was  received  with  similar  honors;  and  there  was  a  i 


22  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

)ar  of  laughter,  when  one  of  his  brethren  slyly  subjoined 
le  addition  of,  "A  good  wife  to  our  brother,  to  keep 
le  Manse  in  order."  On  this  occasion  David  Deans  was 
Blivered  of  his  first-born  joke;  and  apparently  the  partu- 
tion  was  accompanied  with  many  throes,  for  sorely  did 
3  twist  about  his  physiognomy,  and  much  did  he  stumble 
L  his  speech,  before  he  could  express  his  idea,  ''That  the 
d  being  now  wedded  to  his  spiritual  bride,  it  was  hard 
>  threaten  him  with  ane  temporal  spouse  in  the  same 
ay."  He  then  laughed  a  hoarse  and  brief  laugh,  and 
as  suddenly  grave  and  silent,  as  if  abashed  at  his  own 
ivacious  effort. 

After  another  toast  or  two,  Jeanie,  Mrs.  Dolly,  and  such 
t  the  female  natives  as  had  honored  the  feast  with  their 
[•esence,  retired  to  David's  new  dwelling  at  Auchingower, 
id  left  the  gentlemen  to  their  potations. 

The  feast  proceeded  with  great  glee.  The  conversation, 
here  Duncan  had  it  under  his  direction,  was  not  indeed 
[ways  strictly  canonical,  but  David  Deans  escaped  any 
sk  of  being  scandalized,  by  engaging  with  one  of  his 
gighbors  in  a  recapitulation  of  the  sufferings  of  Ayrshire 
id  Lanarkshire,  during  what  was  called  the  invasion  of 
le  Highland  Host;  the  prudent  Mr.  Meiklehose  caution- 
ig  them  from  time  to  time  to  lower  their  voices,  for 
that  Duncan  Knock's  father  had  been  at  that  onslaught, 
id  brought  back  muckle  gude  plenishing,  and  that 
•uncan  was  no  unlikely  to  hae  been  there  himself,  for 
hat  he  kend." 

Meanwhile,  as  the  mirth  grew  fast  and  furious,  the 
raver  members  of  the  party  began  to  escape  as  well  as 
ley  could.  David  Deans  accomplished  his  retreat,  and 
lutler  anxiously  watched  an  opportunity  to  follow  him. 
[nockdunder,  however,  desirous,  he  said,  of  knowing 
hat  stuff  was  in  the  new  minister,  had  no  intention  to 
art  with  him  so  easily,  but  kept  him  pinned  to  his  side, 
atching  him  sedulously,  and  with  obliging  violence  fill- 
ig  his  glass  to  the  brim,  as  often  as  he  could  seize  an 
pportunity  of  doing  so.  At  length,  as  the  evening  was 
'earing  late,  a  venerable  brother  chanced  to  ask  Mr. 
Lrchibald  when  they  might  hope  to  see  the  Duke,  tain 
drum  caput,  as  he  would  venture  to  term  him,  at  the 
lodge  of  Roseneath.    Duncan  of  Knock,  whose  ideas  were 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  523 

somewhat  conglomerated,  and  who,  it  may  bo  l)elieved, 
was  no  ccreat  scholar,  catching  up  some  imperfect  sound 
of  the  words,  conceived  the  speaker  was  drawing  a  parallel 
between  the  Duke  and  Sir  Donald  Gorme  of  Sleat;  and 
being  of  opinion  that  such  comparison  was  odious,  snorted 
thrice,   and  prepared   himself  to  be   in  a  passion. 

To  the  explanation  of  the  venerable  divine  the  Captain 
answered,  'T  heard  the  word  Gorme  myself,  sir,  with  my 
ain  ears.     D'ye  think  I  do  not  know  Gaelic  from  Latin?" 

''Apparently  not,  sir;" — so  the  clergyman,  offended  in 
his  turn,  and  taking  a  pinch  of  snuif,  answered  with  great 
coolness. 

The  copper  nose  of  the  gracious  Duncan  now  became 
heated  like  the  bull  of  Phalaris,  and  while  Mr.  Archibald 
jneditated  betwixt  the  offended  parties,  and  the  attention 
of  the  company  was  engaged  by  their  dispute,  Butler  took 
an  opportunity  to  effect  his  retreat. 

He  found  the  females  at  Auchingower,  very  anxious 
for  the  breaking  up  of  the  convivial  party;  for  it  was  a 
part  of  the  arrangement,  that  although  David  Deans  was 
to  remain  at  Auchingower,  and  Butler  was  that  night  to 
take  possession  of  the  Manse,  yet  Jeanie,  for  whom  com- 
plete accommodations  were  not  yet  provided  in  her 
father's  house,  was  to  return  for  a  day  or  two  to  the  Lodge 
at  Roseneath,  and  the  boats  had  been  held  in  readiness 
accordingly.  They  waited,  therefore,  for  Knockdunder's 
return,  but  twilight  came,  and  they  still  waited  in  vain. 
At  length  Mr.  Archibald,  who,  as  a  man  of  decorum,  had 
taken  care  not  to  exceed  in  his  conviviality,  made  his 
appearance,  and  advised  the  females  strongly  to  return  to 
the  island  under  his  escort;  observing,  that,  from  the  humor 
in  which  he  had  left  the  Captain,  it  was  a  great  chance 
whether  he  budged  out  of  the  public-house  that  night,  and 
it  was  absolutely  certain  that  he  would  not  be  very  fit 
company  for  ladies.  The  gig  was  at  their  disposal,  he 
£aid,  and  there  was  still  pleasant  twilight  for  a  party  on 
the  water. 

Jeanie,  who  had  considerable  confidence  in  Archibald's 
prudence,  immediately  acquiesced  in  this  proposal;  but 
Mrs.  Dolly  positively  objected  to  the  small  boat.  If  the 
big  boat  could  be  gotten,  she  agreed  to  set  out,  otherwise 
sho   would    sleep    on    the    floor,    r:\thor   than    stir    a    step. 


524  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Reasoning  with  Dolly  was  out  of  the  question,  and  Archi- 
bald did  not  think  the  difficulty  so  pressing  as  to  require 
compulsion.  He  observed,  it  was  not  using  the  Captain 
very  politely  to  deprive  him  of  his  coach  and  six;  "but 
as  it  was  in  the  ladies'  service,"  he  gallantly  said,  "he 
would  use  so  much  freedom — besides  the  gig  would  serve 
the  Captain's  purpose  better,  as  it  could  come  oif  at  any 
hour  of  the  tide;  the  large  boat  should,  therefore,  be  at 
Mrs.  Dolly's  service." 

They  walked  to  the  beach  accordingly,  accompanied  by 
Butler.  It  was  some  time  before  the  boatmen  could  be 
assembled,  and  ere  they  were  well  embarked,  and  ready 
to  depart,  the  pale  moon  was  come  over  the  hill,  and  fling- 
ing a  trembling  reflection  on  the  broad  and  glittering 
waves.  But  so  soft  and  pleasant  was  the  night,  that 
Butler,  in  bidding  farewell  to  Jeanie,  had  no  apprehension 
for  her  safety;  and,  what  is  yet  more  extraordinary,  Mrs. 
Dolly  felt  no  alarm  for  her  own.  The  air  was  soft,  and 
came  over  the  cooling  wave  with  something  of  summer 
fragrance.  The  beautiful  scene  of  headlands,  and  capes, 
and  bays,  around  them,  with  the  broad  blue  chain  of 
mountains,  were  dimly  visible  in  the  moonlight;  while 
everj^  dash  of  the  oars  made  the  waters  glance  and  sparkle 
with  the  brilliant  phenomenon  called  the  sea  fire. 

This  last  circumstance  filled  Jeanie  with  wonder,  and 
served  to  amuse  the  mind  of  her  companion,  until  they 
approached  the  little  bay,  which  seemed  to  stret-ch  its  dark 
and  wooded  arms  into  the  sea  as  if  to  welcome  them. 

The  usual  landing-place  was  at  a  quarter  of  a  mile's 
distance  from  the  Lodge,  and  although  the  tide  did  not 
admit  of  the  large  boat  coming  quite  close  to  the  jetty  of 
loose  stones  which  served  as  a  pier,  Jeanie,  who  was  both 
bold  and  active,  easily  sprung  ashore;  but  Mrs.  Dolly 
positively  refusing  to  commit  herself  to  the  same  risk, 
the  complaisant  Mr.  Archibald  ordered  the  boat  round  to 
a  more  regular  landing-place,  at  a  considerable  distance 
along  the  shore.  He  then  prepared  to  land  himself,  that 
he  might,  in  the  meanwhile,  accompany  Jeanie  to  the 
Lodge.  But  as  there  was  no  mistaking  the  woodland 
lane,  which  led  from  thence  to  the  shore,  and  as  the  moon- 
light showed  her  one  of  the  white  chimneys  rising  out  of 
the  wood  which  embosomed  the  building,  Jeanie  declined 


THE   HEART   OF   :MID-LOTmAN  525 

this  favor  with  thanks,  and  requested  him  to  proceed  with 
^Irs.  Dolly,  who.  hoin«]r  "in  a  country  whore  the  ways  were 
stranpc  to  her,  had  mair  need  of  countenance." 

This,  indeed,  was  a  fortunate  circumstance,  and  mijrht 
even  be  said  to  save  poor  Cowslip's  life,  if  it  was  true,  as 
she  herself  usj^d  solcnuily  to  aver,  that  she  must  positively 
have  expired  ii>r  fear,  if  she  had  been  left  alone  in  the 
boat  with  six  wild  Hiprhlanders  in  kilts. 

The  nigrht  was  so  exquisitely  beautiful,  that  Jeanie,.  in- 
stead of  immediately  directing:  her  course  toward,  the 
Xodgre,  stood  loc»kinju:  after  the  boat  as  it  again  put  off 
from  the  side,  and  rowed  out  into  the  little  bay,  the  dark 
figures  of  her  companions  growing  less  and  less  distinct 
as  they  diminshed  in  the  distance,  and  the  jorram,  or 
melancholy  boat-song  of  the  rowers,  coming  on  the  ear 
with  softened  and  sweeter  sound,  until  the  boat  rounded 
the  headland,  and  was  lost  to  her  observation. 

Still  Jeanie  remained  in  the  same  posture,  looking  out 
upon  the  sea.  It  would,  she  was  aware,  be  some  time  ere 
her  companions  could  reach  the  Lodge,  as  the  distance  by 
the  more  convenient  landing-place  was  considerably 
greater  than  from  the  point  where  she  stood,  and  she  was 
not  sorrA-  to  have  an  opportunity  to  spend  the  interval  by 
herself. 

The  wonderful  change  which  a  few  weeks  had  wrought 
in  her  situation,  from  shame  and  grief,  and  almost  despair, 
to  honor,  joy,  and  a  fair  prospect  of  future  happiness, 
passed  before  her  eyes  with  a  sensation  which  brought  the 
tears  into  them.  Yet  they  flowed  at  the  same  time  from 
another  source.  As  human  happiness  is  never  perfect, 
and  as  well-constructed  minds  are  never  more  sensible  of 
the  distresses  of  those  whom  they  love,  than  when  their 
own  situation  forms  a  contrast  with  them,  Jeanie's  affec- 
tionate regrets  turned  to  the  fate  of  her  poor  sister — the 
child  of  so  many  hopes — the  fondled  nurseling  of  so  many 
years — now  an  exile,  and,  what  was  worse,  dependent  on 
the  will  of  a  man,  of  whose  habits  she  had  every  reason 
to  entertain  the  worst  opinion,  and  who,  even  in  his 
strongest  paroxysms  of  remorse,  had  appeared  too  much 
a  stranger  to  the  feelings  of  real  penit-ence. 

While  her  thoughts  were  occupied  with  these  melan- 
eholy  refleetions,  a  shadowy  figure  seemed  to  detach  itself 


526  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


\ 


from  the  copsewood  on  her  right  hand.  Jeanie  started, 
and  the  stories  of  apparitions  and  wraiths,  seen  by  solitary- 
travellers  in  wild  situations,  at  such  times,  and  in  such 
an  hour,  suddenly  came  full  upon  her  imagination.  The 
figure  glided  on,  and  as  it  came  betwixt  her  and  the  moon, 
she  was  aware  that  it  had  the  appearance  of  a  woman.  A 
soft  voice  twice  repeated,  "Jeanie — Jeanie!" — Was  it  in- 
deed— could  it  be  the  voice  of  her  sister? — Was  she  still  [ 
among  the  living,  or  had  the  grave  given  up  its  tenant? —  ! 
Ere  she  could  state  these  questions  to  her  own  mind,  Effie,  I 
alive,  and  in  the  body,  had  clasped  her  in  her  arms,  and  | 
was  straining  her  to  her  bosom,  and  devouring  her  with  j 
kisses.  "I  have  wandered  here,"  she  said,  "like  a  ghaist,  | 
to  see  you,  and  nae  wonder  you  take  me  for  ane — I  thought  ,! 
but  to  see  you  gang  by,  or  to  hear  the  sound  of  your  voice ;  ^! 
but  to  speak  to  yoursell  again,  Jeanie,  was  mair  than  I  j| 
deserved,  and  mair  than  I  durst  pray  for."  |: 

"Oh,  Effie !  how  came  ye  here  alone,  and  at  this  hour, 
and  on  the  wild  sea-beach? — Are  you  sure  it's  your  aiu 
living  sell?" 

There  was  something  of  Effie's  former  humor  in  her 
practically  answering  the  question  by  a  gentle  pinch,  more 
beseeming  the  fingers  of  a  fairy  than  of  a  ghost.     And   \ 
again   the   sisters   embraced,   and   laughed,   and  wept  by   \ 
turns. 

"But  ye  maun  gang  up  wi'  me  to  the  Lodge,  Effie,"  ' 
said  Jeanie,  "and  tell  me  a'  your  story — I  hae  gude  folk  [ 
there  that  will  make  ye  welcome  for  my  sake."  j 

"Na,  na,   Jeanie,"   replied  her  sister  sorrowfully, — "ye   ■ 
hae  forgotten  what  I  am — a  banished  outlawed  creature,    " 
scarce  escaped  the  gallows  by  your  being  the  bauldest  and 
the  best  sister  that  ever  lived — I'll  gae  near  nane  o'  your   j 
grand  friends,  even  if  there  was  nae  danger  to  me." 

"There  is  nae  danger — there  shall  be  nae  danger,"  said  i 
Jeanie  eagerly.  "Oh,  Effie,  dinna  be  wilfu' — be  guided  \ 
for  anes — we  will  be  sae  happy  a'thegither !"  | 

"I  have  a'  the  happiness  I  deserve  on  this  side  of  the  i 
grave,  now  that  I  hae  seen  you,"  answered  Effie;  "and  i 
whether  there  were  danger  to  mysell  or  no,  naebody  shall  ' 
ever  say  that  I  come  with  my  cheat-the-gallows  face  to  1 
shame  my  sister  amang  her  grand  friends."  ; 

"I  hae  nae  grand  friends,"  said  Jeanie;  "nae  friends  but   ^ 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  527 

what  are  friends  of  yours — Reuben  Butler  and  my  father. 
— Oh,  unhappy  kissie,  dinna  be  dour,  and  turn  your  back 
on  your  happiness  again!  We  wunna  see  another  ac- 
quaintance— Come  hame  to  us,  your  ain  dearest  friends — 
it's  better  shelteringr  under  an  auld  hedye  than  under  a 
new-phmted  wood/' 

"It's  in  vain  speaking,  Jeanie — I  maun  drink  as  I  hae 
brewed — I  am  niarried,  and  I  maun  follow  my  husband 
for  better  for  worse."' 

"Married,  Effiel"  exclaimed  Jeanie  —  "Misfortunate 
creature!   and  to  that  awfu' " 

"Hush,  hush,"  said  Effie,  clapping  one  hand  on  her 
mouth,  and  pointing  to  the  thicket  with  the  other,  "he  is 
yonder." 

She  said  this  in  a  tone  which  showed  that  her  husband 
had  found  means  to  inspire  her  with  awe,  as  well  as 
alfection.     At  this  moment  a  man  issued  from  the  wood. 

It  was  young  Staunton.  Even  by  the  imperfect  light 
of  the  moon,  Jeanie  could  observe  that  he  was  handsomely 
dressed,  and  had  the  air  of  a  person  of  rank. 

"Effie,"  he  said,  "our  time  is  well-nigh  spent — the  skiff 
will  be  aground  in  the  creek,  and  I  dare  not  stay  longer. 
— I  hope  your  sister  will  allow  me  to  salute  her?"  But 
Jeanie  shrunk  back  from  him  with  a  feeling  of  internal 
abhorrence.  "Well,"  he  said,  "it  does  not  much  signify; 
if  you  keep  up  the  feeling  of  ill-will,  at  least  you  do  not 
act  upon  it,  and  I  thank  you  for  your  respect  to  my  secret, 
when  a  word  (which  in  your  place  I  would  have  spoken 
at  once)  would  have  cost  me  my  life.  People  say,  you 
should  keep  from  the  wife  of  your  bosom  the  secret  that 
concerns  your  neck — my  wife  and  her  sister  both  know 
mine,  and  I  shall  not  sleep  a  wink  the  less  sound." 

"But  are  you  really  married  to  my  sister,  sir?"  asked 
Jeanie,  in  great  doubt  and  anxiety;  for  the  haughty,  care- 
less tone  in  which  he  spoke  seemed  to  justify  her  worst 
apprehensions. 

"I  really  am  legally  married,  and  by  my  own  name," 
replied   Staunton,  more  gravely. 

"And  your  father — and  your  friends?" 

"And  my  father  and  my  friends  must  just  reconcile 
themselves  to  that  which  is  done  and  cannot  be  undone," 
replied  Staunton.     "However,  it  is  my  intention,  in  order 


528  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

to  break  off  dangerous  connections,  and  to  let  my  friends 
come  to  their  temper,  to  conceal  my  marriage  for  the 
present,  and  stay  abroad  for  some  years.  So  that  you  will 
not  hear  of  us  for  some  time,  if  ever  you  hear  of  us 
again  at  all.  It  would  be  dangerous,  you  must  be  aware, 
to  keep  up  the  correspondence;  for  all  would  guess  that 
the  husband  of  Effie  was  the — what  shall  I  call  myself? — 
the  slayer  of  Porteous." 

Hard-hearted  light  man!  thought  Jeanie — to  what  a 
character  she  has  entrusted  her  happiness! — She  has  sown 
the  wind,  and  maun  reap  the  whirlwind. 

''Dinna  think  ill  o'  him,"  said  Effie,  breaking  away  from 
her  husband,  and  leading  Jeanie  a  step  or  two  out  of 
hearing, — ''dinna  think  very  ill  o'  him — he's  gude  to  me, 
Jeanie — as  gude  as  I  deserve — And  he  is  determined  to 
gie  up  his  bad  courses — Sae,  after  a',  dinna  greet  for  Effie ; 
she  is  better  oft"  than  she  has  wrought  for. — But  you — oh, 
you ! — how  can  you  be  happy  eneugh ! — never  till  ye  get  to 
Heaven,  where  a'body  is  as  gude  as  yoursell. — Jeanie,  if  I 
live  and  thriA^e,  ye  shall  hear  of  me — if  not,  just  forget 
that  sic  a  creature  ever  lived  to  vex  ye — fare  ye  weel — 
fare — fare  ye  weel!" 

She  tore  herself  from  her  sister's  arms — rejoined  her 
husband — they  plunged  into  the  copsewood,  and  she  saw 
them  no  more.  The  whole  scene  had  the  effect  of  a  vision, 
and  she  could  almost  have  believed  it  such,  but  that  very 
soon  after  they  quitted  her,  she  heard  the  sound  of  oars, 
and  a  skiff  was  seen  on  the  firth,  pulling  swiftly  toward 
the  small  smuggling  sloop  which  lay  in  the  offing.  It 
was  on  board  of  such  a  vessel  that  Effie  had  embarked  at 
Portobello,  and  Jeanie  had  no  doubt  that  the  same  con- 
veyance was  destined,  as  Staunton  had  hinted,  to  trans- 
port them  to  a  foreign  country. 

Although  it  was  impossible  to  determine  whether  this 
interview,  while  it  was  passing,  gave  more  pain  or  pleas- 
ure to  Jeanie  Deans,  yet  the  ultimate  impression  which 
remained  on  her  mind  was  decidedly  favorable.  Effie  was 
married  —  made,  according  to  the  common  phrase,  an 
honest  woman — that  was  one  main  point;  it  seemed  also 
as  if  her  husband  were  about  to  abandon  the  path  of  gross 
vice,  in  which  he  had  run  so  long  and  so  desperately — 
that  was  another.    For  his  final  and  effectual  conversion, 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  529 

ho  (lid  not  want   understand inj^:,  and   God  knew  his  own 
hour. 

Such  were  the  thoug-hts  with  which  Jeanie  endeavored  to 
console  her  anxiety  respecting  her  sister's  future  fortune. 
On  her  arrival  at  the  Lodge,  she  found  Archibald  in  some 
anxiety  at  her  stay,  and  about  to  walk  out  in  quest  of  her. 
A  headache  served  as  an  apology  for  retiring  to  rest,  in 
order  to  conceal  her  visible  agitation  of  mind  from  her 
companions. 

By  this  secession  also,  she  escaped  another  scene  of  a 
ditferent  sort.  For,  as  if  there  were  danger  in  all  gigs, 
whether  by  sea  or  land,  that  of  Knockdunder  had  been 
run  down  by  another  boat,  an  accident  owing  chiefly  to^ 
the  drunkenness  of  the  captain,  his  crew,  and  passengers. 
Knockdunder,  and  two  or  three  guests,  whom  he  was 
bringing  along  with  him  to  finish  the  conviviality  of  the 
evening  at  the  Lodge,  got  a  sound  ducking;  but,  being' 
rescued  by  the  crew  of  the  boat  which  endangered  them, 
there  was  no  ultimate  loss,  excepting  that  of  the  Captain's 
laced  hat,  which,  greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  High- 
land part  of  the  district,  as  well  as  to  the  improvement 
of  the  conformity  of  his  own  personal  appearance,  he'  re- 
placed by  a  smart  Highland  bonnet  next  day.  Many  were 
the  vehement  threats  of  vengeance  which,  on  the  suc- 
ceeding morning,  the  gracious  Duncan  threw  out  against 
the  boat  which  had  upset  him ;  but  as  neither  she,  nor 
the  small  smuggling  vessel  to  which  she  belonged,  was  any 
longer  to  be  seen  in  the  firth,  he  was  compelled  to  sit  down 
with  the  affront.  This  was  the  more  hard,  he  said,  as  he 
was  assured  the  mischief  was  done  on  purpose,  these 
scoundrels  having  lurked  about  after  they  had  landed 
every  drop  of  brandy,  and  every  bag  of  tea  they  had  on 
board;  and  he  understood  the  coxswain  had  been  on  shore, 
making  particular  inquiries  concerning  the  time  when  his 
boat  was  to  cross  over,  and  to  return,  and  so  forth. 

"Put  the  neist  time  they  meet  me  on  the  firth,"  said 
Duncan,  with  groat  majesty,  "I  will  teach  the  moonlight 
rapscallions  and  vagabonds  to  keep  their  ain  side  of  the 
road,  and  be  tamn'd  to  them!" 


530  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTEE  XLVII 

Lord!  who  would  live  turmoiled  in  a  court, 
And   may    enjoy   such   quiet   walks   as  these? 

Shakespeare. 

Within  a  reasonable  time  after  Butler  was  safely  and  com- 
fortably settled  in  his  living",  and  Jeanie  had  taken  up 
her  abode  at  Auchingower  with  her  father, — the  precise 
extent  of  which  interval  we  request  each  reader  to  settle 
according  to  his  own  sense  of  what  is  decent  and  proper 
upon  the  occasion, — and  after  due  proclamation  of  banns, 
and  all  other  formalities,  the  long  wooing  of  this  worthy 
pair  was  ended  by  their  union  in  the  holy  bands  of  matri- 
mony. On  this  occasion,  David  Deans  stoutly  withstood 
the  iniquities  of  pipes,  fiddles,  and  promiscuous  dancing, 
to  the  great  wrath  of  the  Captain  of  Knockdunder,  who 
said,  if  he  "had  guessed  it  was  to  be  sic  a  tamn'd  Quakers' 
meeting  he  wad  hae  seen  them  peyont  the  cairn  before  he 
wad  hae  darkened  their  doors." 

And  so  much  rancor  remained  on  the  spirits  of  the 
gracious  Duncan  upon  this  occasion,  that  various  "pic- 
queerings,"  as  David  called  them,  took  place  upon  the 
same  and  similar  topics;  and  it  was  only  in  consequence 
of  an  accidental  visit  of  the  Duke  to  his  Lodge  at  Rose- 
neath,  that  they  were  put  a  stop  to.  But-  upon  that  oc- 
casion his  Grace  showed  such  particular  respect  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Butler,  and  such  favor  even  to  old  David,  that 
Knockdunder  held  it  prudent  to  change  his  course  toward 
The  latter.  He,  in  future,  used  to  express  himself  among 
friends,  concerning  the  minister  and  his  wife,  as  "very 
.vorthy  decent  folk,  just  a  little  over  strict  in  their  no- 
tions; put  it  was  pest  for  thae  plack  cattle  to  err  on  the 
safe  side."  And  respecting  David,  he  allowed  that  "he 
was  an  excellent  judge  of  nowte  and  sheep,  and  a  sensible 
eneugh  carle,  an  it  werena  for  his  tamn'd  Cameronian 
nonsense,  whilk  it  is  not  worth  while  of  a  shentleman  to 
knock  out  of  an  auld  silly  head,  either  by  force  of  reason, 
or  otherwise."  So  that,  by  avoiding  topics  of  dispute,  the 
personages  of  our  tale  lived  in  great  good  habits  with  the 
gracious  Duncan,  only  that  he  still  grieved  David's  soul. 


THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTH  I  AX  531 

and  set  a  perilous  example  to  the  eongrepration,  by  some- 
times hrintriTifx  his  pipe  to  the  ehurrh  dnrinc:  a  cold  winter 
day.  and  almost  always  sleeping:  diirinpr  sermon  in  the 
summer  time. 

Mrs.  Butler,  whom  we  must  no  lonprer,  if  we  ean  help  it, 
term  by  the  familiar  name  of  Jeanie,  brouprht  into  the 
married  state  the  same  firm  mind  and  aflFeetionat<?  disposi- 
tion,— the  same  natural  and  homely  ^ood  sense,  and  spirit 
of  useful  exertion, — in  a  word,  all  the  domestic  good  quali- 
ties of  whieh  she  had  criven  proof  during-  her  maiden  life. 
She  did  not  indeed  rival  Butler  in  learning;  but  then  no 
woman  more  devoutly  venerated  the  extent  of  her  hus- 
bands erudition.  She  did  not  pretend  to  understand  his 
expositions  of  divinity;  but  no  minister  of  the  Presbytery 
had  his  humble  dinner  so  well  arranged,  his  clothes  and 
linen  in  equal  good  order,  his  fireside  so  neatly  swept, 
his  parlor  so  clean,  and  his  books  so  well  dusted. 

If  he  talked  to  Jeanie  of  what  she  did  not  understand, 
— and  (for  the  man  was  mortal,  and  had  been  a  school- 
master) he  sometimes  did  harangue  more  scholarly  and 
wisely  than  was  necessary, — she  listened  in  placid  silence; 
and  whenever  the  point  referred  to  common  life,  and 
was  such  as  came  under  the  grasp  of  a  strong  natural 
understanding,  her  views  were  more  forcible,  and  her 
observ-ations  more  acute,  than  his  own.  In  acquired 
politeness  of  manners,  when  it  happened  that  she  mingled 
a  little  in  society,  Mrs.  Butler  was,  of  course,  judged 
deficient.  But  then  she  had  that  obvious  wish  to  oblige, 
and  that  real  and  natural  good-breeding  depending  on 
good  sense  and  good-humor,  which,  joined  to  a  consider- 
able degree  of  archness  and  liveliness  of  manner,  rendered 
her  behavior  acceptable  to  all  with  whom  she  was  called 
upon  to  associate.  Notwithstanding  her  strict  attention 
to  all  domestic  affairs,  she  always  appeared  the  clean 
well-dressed  mistress  of  the  house,  never  the  sordid  house- 
hold drudge.  When  complimented  on  this  occasion  by 
Duncan  Jvnock,  who  swore,  "that  he  thought  the  fairies 
mu.st  help  her,  since  her  house  was  always  clean,  and 
nobody  ever  saw  anybody  sweeping  it,"  she  modestly  re- 
plied, "That  much  might  be  dune  by  timing  ane's  turns." 

Duncan  replie<l,  "He  heartily  wished  she  could  teach 
that  art  to  the  huzzies  at  the  Lodge,  for  he  could  never 


532  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

discover  that  the  house  was  washed  at  a',  except  now  and 
then  by  breaking  his  shins  over  the  pail — Cot  tamn  the 
jands !" 

Of  lesser  matters  there  is  not  occasion  to  speak  much. 
It  may  easily  be  believed  that  the  Duke's  cheese  was  care- 
fully made,  and  so  graciously  accepted,  that  the  offering 
became  annual.  Remembrances  and  acknowledgments 
of  past  favors  were  sent  to  Mrs.  Bickerton  and  Mrs.  Glass, 
and  an  amicable  intercourse  maintained  from  time  to  time 
with  these  two  respectable  and  benevolent  persons. 

It  is  especially  necessary  to  mention,  that,  in  the  course 
of  five  years,  Mrs.  Butler  had  three  children,  two  boys  and 
a  girl,  all  stout  healthy  babes  of  grace,  fair-haired,  blue- 
eyed,  and  strong-limbed.  The  boys  were  named  David 
and  Reuben,  an  order  of  nomenclature  which  was  much 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  old  hero  of  the  Covenant,  and 
the  girl,  by  her  mother's  special  desire,  was  christened 
Euphemia,  rather  contrary  to  the  wish  both  of  her  father 
and  husband,  who  nevertheless  loved  Mrs.  Butler  too  well, 
and  were  too  much  indebted  to  her  for  their  hours  of  hap- 
piness, to  withstand  any  request  which  she  made  with 
earnestness,  and  as  a  gratification  to  herself.  But  from 
some  feeling,  I  know  not  of  what  kind,  the  child  was 
never  distinguished  by  the  name  of  Effie,  but  by  the  ab- 
breviation of  Eemie,  which  in  Scotland  is  equally  com- 
monly  applied  to  persons  called  Euphemia. 

In  this  state  of  quiet  and  unostentatious  enjoyment, 
there  were,  besides  the  ordinary  rubs  and  ruffles  which 
disturb  even  the  most  uniform  life,  two  things  which 
particularly  checkered  Mrs.  Butler's  happiness.  "Without 
these,"  she  said  to  our  informer,  "her  life  would  have  j 
been  but  too  happy;  and  perhaps,"  she  added,  "she  had 
need  of  some  crosses  in  this  world  to  remind  her  that  there  ; 
was  a  better  to  come  behind  it."  ! 

The  first  of  these  related  to  certain  polemical  skirmishes  ■ 
betwixt  her  father  and  her  husband,  which,  notwithstand-  j 
ing  the  mutual  respect  and  affection  they  entertained  for  | 
each  other,  and  their  great  love  for  her, — notwithstanding  . 
also  their  general  agreement  in  strictness,  and  even  j 
severity,  of  Presbyterian  principle, — often  threatened  un- 
pleasant weather  between  them.  David  Deans,  as  our 
readers  must  be  aware,  was  sufficiently  opinionative  and  in- 


TIIK    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  533 

tractable,  and  havinpr  prcvailod  on  himself  to  become  a 
member  of  a  kirk-session  under  the  Established  Church, 
he  felt  doubly  obliged  to  evince,  that  in  so  doing,  he  had 
not  conii)roTnis(Hl  any  whit  of  his  former  professions, 
either  in  practice  or  principle.  Now,  Mr.  Butler,  doing 
all  credit  to  his  father-in-law's  motives,  was  frequently 
of  opinion  that  it  were  better  to  drop  out  of  memory  points 
of  division  and  separation,  and  to  act  in  the  manner  most 
likely  to  attract  and  unite  all  parties  who  were  serious 
in  religion.  Moreover,  he  was  not  pleased,  as  a  man 
and  a  scholar,  to  be  always  dictated  to  by  his  unlettered 
father-in-law;  and  as  a  clergyman,  he  did  not  think  it  fit 
to  seem  forever  under  the  thumb  of  an  elder  of  his  own 
kirk-session.  A  proud  but  honest  thought  carried  his 
opposition  now  and  then  a  little  farther  than  it  would 
otherwise  have  gone.  "My  brethren,"  he  said,  "will  sup- 
pose I  am  flattering  and  conciliating  the  old  man  for  the 
sake  of  his  succession,  if  I  defer  and  give  way  to  him  on 
every  occasion;  and,  besides,  there  are  many  on  which 
I  neither  can  nor  will  conscientiously  yield  to  his  notions. 
1  cannot  be  persecuting  old  women  for  witches,  or  ferret- 
ing out  matter  of  scandal  among  the  young  ones,  which 
might  otherwise  have  remained  concealed." 

From  this  ditierence  of  opinion  it  happened,  that,  in 
many  cases  of  nicety,  such  as  in  owniing  certain  defec- 
tions, and  failing  to  testify  against  certain  backslidings 
of  the  time,  in  not  always  severely  tracing  forth  little  mat- 
ters of  scandal  and  jama  clamosa,  which  David  called  a 
loosening  of  the  reins  of  discipline,  and  in  failing  to  de- 
mand clear  testimonies  in  other  points  of  controversy 
which  had,  as  it  were,  drifted  to  leeward  with  the  change 
of  times,  Butler  incurred  the  censure  of  his  father-in- 
law;  and  sometimes  the  disputes  betwixt  them  became 
eager  and  almost  unfriendly.  In  all  such  cases  Mrs. 
Butler  was  a  mediating  spirit,  who  endeavored,  by  the 
alkaline  smoothness  of  her  own  disposition,  to  neutralize 
the  acidity  of  theological  controversy.  To  the  complaints 
of  both  she  lent  an  unprejudiced  and  attentive  ear,  and 
sought  always  rather  to  excuse  than  absolutely  to  defend 
the  other  party. 

She  reminded  her  father  that  Butler  had  not  "his  ex- 
perience of  the  auld  and  wrastling  times,  when  folk  were 


i-*i 


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536  THE   HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

at  the  Manse,  on  his  return  from  some  business  in  the 
Highland  part  of  the  parish,  and  had  been  accommodated, 
according  to  his  special  request,  with  a  mixture  of  milk, 
brandy,  honey,  and  water,  -which  he  said  Mrs.  Butler  com- 
pounded "petter  than  ever  a  woman  in  Scotland," — for,  in 
all  innocent  matters,  she  studied  the  taste  of  every  one 
around  her, — he  said  to  Butler,  "Py  the  py,  minister,  I 
have  a  letter  here  either  for  your  canny  pody  of  a  wife  or 
you,  which  I  got  when  I  was  last  at  Glasco;  the  postage 
comes  to  fourpence,  which  you  may  either  pay  me  forth- 
with, or  give  me  tooble  or  quits  in  hit  at  packcammon." 

The  playing  at  backgammon  and  draughts  had  been  a 
frequent  amusement  of  Mr.  Whackbairn,  Butler's  prin- 
cipal, when  at  Libberton  school.  The  minister,  therefore, 
still  piqued  himself  on  his  skill  at  both  games,  and  oc- 
casionally practised  them,  as  strictly  canonical,  although 
JDavid  Deans,  whose  notions  of  every  kind  were  more 
rigorous,  used  to  shake  his  head,  and  groan  grievously, 
when  he  espied  the  tables  lying  in  the  parlor,  or  the 
children  playing  with  the  dice-boxes  or  backgammon  men. 
Indeed,  Mrs.  Butler  was  sometimes  chidden  for  removing 
these  implements  of  pastime  into  some  closet  or  corner 
out  of  sight.  "Let  them  be  where  they  are,  Jeanie,"  would 
Butler  say  upon  such  occasions;  "I  am  not  conscious  of 
following  this,  or  any  other  trifling  relaxation,  to  the  in- 
terruption of  my  more  serious  studies,  and  still  more 
serious  duties.  I  will  not,  therefore,  have  it  supposed  that 
I  am  indulging  by  stealth,  and  against  my  conscience,  in 
an  amusement  which,  using  it  so  little  as  I  do,  I  may  well 
practise  openly,  and  without  any  check  of  mind — Nil 
conscire  sihi,  Jeanie,  that  is  my  motto;  which  signifies, 
my  love,  the  honest  and  open  confidence  which  a  man 
ought  to  entertain  when  he  is  acting  openly,  and  without 
any  sense  of  doing  wrong." 

Such  being  Butler's  humor,  he  accepted  the  Captain's 
defiance  to  a  twopenny  hit  at  backgammon,  and  handed 
the  letter  to  his  wife,  observing  the  post-mark  was  York, 
but,  if  it  came  from  her  friend  Mrs.  Bickerton,  she  had 
considerably  improved  her  handwriting,  which  was  un- 
common  at  her  years. 

Leaving  the  gentlemen  to  their  game,  Mrs.  Butler  went 
to  order  something  for  supper,  for  Captain  Duncan  had 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-I.OTlllAX  537 

proposed  kindly  to  stay  the  ni^ht  with  them,  and  then 
carelessly  broke  open  her  letter.  It  was  not  from  Mrs. 
Bickerton,  and,  after  glancing  over  the  first  few  lines, 
she  soon  found  it  necessary  to  retire  into  her  own  bedroom, 
to  read  the  document  at  leisure. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII 

Happy  thou  artl  then   happy  be, 

Nor   envy    nie    my    lot; 
Thy  happy  state  I   envy  thef^, 

And  peaceful  cot. 

Lady  C —  C — L. 

The  letter,  which  Mrs,  Butler,  when  retired  into  her  own 
apartment,  perused  with  anxious  wonder,  was  certainly 
from  Effie,  althoujrh  it  had  no  other  sijrnature  than  the 
letter  E.;  and  although  the  orthography,  style,  and  pen- 
manship, were  very  far  superior  not  only  to  anything 
which  Effie  could  produce,  who,  though  a  lively  girl,  had 
been  a  remarkably  careless  scholar,  but  even  to  her  more 
considerate  sisters  own  powers  of  composition  and  ex- 
pression. The  manuscript  was  a  fair  Italian  hand,  though 
something  stiff  and  constrained — the  spelling  and  the  dic- 
tion that  of  a  person  who  had  been  accustomed  to  read 
good  composition,  and  mix  in  good  society. 
The  tenor  of  the  letter  was  as  follows : — 
''My  dearest  Sister, — At  many  risks  I  venture  to 
write  to  you,  to  inform  you  that  I  am  still  alive,  and,  as 
to  worldly  situation,  that  I  rank  higher  than  I  coul<l  ex- 
pect or  merit.  If  wealth,  and  distinction,  and  an  honor- 
able rank,  could  make  a  woman  happy,  I  have  them  all; 
l>ut  you,  Jeanie,  whom  the  world  might  think  placed  far 
Ix'iicath  me  in  all  these  respects,  are  far  happier  than  I 
am.  I  have  had  means  of  hearing  of  your  welfare,  my 
f]<'arest  Jeanie,  from  time  to  time — I  think  I  should  have 
broken  my  heart  otherwise.  I  have  learnt  with  great 
pleasure  of  your  increasing  family.  We  have  not  been 
worthy  of  such  a  blessing;  two  infants  have  been  suc- 
cessively removed,  and  we  are  now  childless — God's  will 
b«*  done!  But,  if  we  had  a  child,  it  would  perhaps  divert 
him  from  the  gloomy  thoughts  which  make  him  terrible 


538  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAIS 

to  himself  and  others.  Yet  do  not  let  me  frighten  you, 
Jeanie;  he  continues  to  be  kind,  and  I  am  far  better  off 
than  I  deserve.  You  will  wonder  at  my  better  scholarship ; 
but  when  I  was  abroad,  I  had  the  best  teachers,  and  I 
worked  hard  because  my  progress  pleased  him.  He  is 
kind,  Jeanie,  only  he  has  much  to  distress  him,  especially 
when  he  looks  backward.  When  I  look  backward  myself, 
I  have  always  a  ray  of  comfort;  it  is  in  the  generous  con- 
duct of  a  sister,  who  forsook  me  not  when  I  was  forsaken 
by  every  one.  You  have  had  your  reward.  You  live 
happy  in  the  esteem  and  love  of  all  who  know  you,  and  I 
drag  on  the  life  of  a  miserable  impostor,  indebted  for  the 
marks  of  regard  I  receive  to  a  tissue  of  deceit  and  lies, 
which  the  slightest  accident  may  unravel.  He  has  pro- 
duced me  to  his  friends,  since  the  estate  opened  to  him, 
as  the  daughter  of  a  Scotchman  of  rank,  banished  on  ac- 
count of  the  Viscount  of  Dundee's  wars — that  is,  our 
Fr's  old  friend  Clavers,  you  know — and  he  says  I  was 
educated  in  a  Scotch  convent;  indeed,  I  lived  in  such  a 
place  long  enough  to  enable  me  to  support  the  character. 
But  when  a  countryman  approaches  me,  and  begins  to 
talk,  as  they  all  do,  of  the  various  families  engaged  in 
Dundee's  affair,  and  to  make  inquiries  into  my  connec- 
tions, and  when  I  see  his  eye  bent  on  mine  with  such  an 
expression  of  agony,  my  terror  brings  me  to  the  very  risk 
of  detection.  Good-natiire  and  politeness  have  hitherto 
saved  me,  as  they  prevented  people  from  pressing  on  me 
with  distressing  questions.  But  how  long — O  how  long, 
will  this  be  the  case ! — And  if  I  bring  this  disgrace  on  him, 
he  will  hate  me — he  will  kill  me.  for  as  much  as  he  loves 
me;  he  is  as  jealous  of  his  family  honor  now,  as  ever  he 
was  careless  about  it.  I  have  been  in  England  four 
months,  and  have-  often  thought  of  writing  to  you;  and 
yet,  such  are  the  dangers  that  might  arise  from  an  inter- 
cepted letter,  that  I  have  hitherto  forborne.  But  now  I 
am  obliged  to  run  the  risk.  Last  week  I  saw  your  great 
friend,  the  D.  of  A.  He  came  to  my  box,  and  sate  by 
me ;  and  something  in  the  play  put  him  in  mind  of  you — 
Gracious  Heaven !  he  told  over  your  whole  London  journey 
to  all  who  were  in  the  box,  but  particularly  to  the  wretched 
creature  who  was  the  occasion  of  it  all.  Jf  he  had  known 
—if  he  could  have  conceived,  beside  whom  he  was  sitting^ 


THE    HEART    OF    MIDLOTHIAN  539 

and  to  whom  the  story  was  told! — I  sufferod  with  coiirapre, 
like  an  Indian  at  the  stake,  while  they  are  rendinp:  his 
libres  and  borinp  his  eyes,  and  while  he  smilos  applause  at 
eaeh  well-imairined  eontrivanee  of  his  tortures.  It  was 
too  mueh  for  me  at  last,  Jennie — I  faintcnl;  and  my  ajrony 
was  imputed  i>artly  to  the  heat  of  the  place,  and  partly  to 
my  extreme  sensibility;  and,  hypocrite  all  over,  I  en- 
couraged both  opinions — anythini?  but  discovery!  Luck- 
ily he  was  not  there.  But  the  incident  has  led  to  more 
alarms.  I  am  oblisred  to  meet  your  great  man  often;  and 
he  seldom  sees  me  without  talking  of  E.  D.  and  J.  D., 
and  R.  B.  and  D.  D.,  as  persons  in  whom  my  amiable 
sensibility  is  interested.  My  amiable  sensibility!  !  ! — 
And  then  the  cruel  tone  of  light  indifference  with  which 
persons  in  the  fashionable  world  speak  together  on  the 
most  affecting  subjects!  To  hear  my  guilt,  my  folly,  my 
agony,  the  foibles  and  weaknesses  of  my  friends — even 
your  heroic  exertions,  Jeanie,  spoken  of  in  the  drolling 
style  which  is  the  present  tone  in  fashionable  life — Scarce 
all  that  I  formerly  endured  is  equal  to  this  state  of  irrita- 
tion— then  it  was  blows  and  stabs — now  it  is  pricking  to 
<leath  with  needles  and  pins. — He — I  mean  the  D. — goes 
down  next  month  to  spend  the  shooting  season  in  Scot- 
land— he  says,  he  makes  a  point  of  always  dining  one  day 
at  the  !Manse — be  on  your  guard,  and  do  not  betray  your- 
self, should  he  mention  me — Yourself,  alas!  yon  have 
nothing  to  betray — nothing  to  fear;  you,  the  pure,  the 
virtuous,  the  heroine  of  unstained  faith,  unblemished 
purity,  what  can  you  have  to  fear  from  the  world  or  its 
jiroudost  minions?  It  is  E.  whose  life  is  once  more  in 
your  hands — it  is  E.  whom  you  are  to  save  from  being 
plucked  of  her  borrowed  plumes,  discovered,  branded,  and 
trodden  down,  first  by  him,  perhaps,  who  has  raised  her 
to  this  dizzy  pinnacle! — The  enclosure  will  reach  you 
twice  a  year — do  not  refuse  it — it  is  out  of  my  own  allow- 
ance, and  may  be  twice  as  much  when  you  want  it.  With 
y<in   it  may  do  good — with  me  it  never  can. 

"Write  to  me  soon,  Jeanie,  or  I  shall  remain  in  the 
agonizing  apprehension  that  this  has  fallen  into  wrong 
hands — Address  simply  to  L.  S.,  under  cover,  to  the 
Reverend  (Jeorge  Whiterose,  in  the  Minster-Close.  York. 
He  thinks  I  correspond   with  some  of  my  nobl''  .Tacohitrt 


540  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

relations  who  are  in  Scotland.  How  high-church  and 
jacobitical  zeal  would  burn  in  his  cheeks,  if  he  knew  he 
was  the  agent,  not  of  Euphemia  Setoun,  of  the  honorable 
house  of  Winton,  but  of  E.  D.,  daughter  of  a  Cameronian 
cowfeeder! — Jeanie,  I  can  laugh  yet  sometimes — but  God 
protect  you  from  such  mirth. — My  father — I  mean  your 
father,  would  say  it  was  like  the  idle  crackling  of  thorns; 
but  the  thorns  keep  their  poignancy,  they  remain  uncon- 
sumed. — Farewell,  my  dearest  Jeanie — Do  not  show  this 
even  to  Mr.  Butler,  much  less  to  any  one  else — I  have 
every  respect  for  him,  but  his  principles  are  over  strict, 
and  my  case  will  not  endure  severe  handling. — I  rest  your 
affectionate  sister,  E." 

In  this  long  letter  there  was  much  to  surprise  as  well  as 
to  distress  Mrs.  Butler.  That  Effie — her  sister  Effie, 
should  be  mingling  freely  in  society,  and  apparently  on 
not  unequal  terms,  with  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  sounded  like 
something  so  extraordinary,  that  she  even  doubted  if  she 
read  truly.  Nor  was  it  less  marvellous,  that,  in  the  space 
of  four  years,  her  education  should  have  made  such  prog- 
ress. Jeanie's  humility  readily  allowed  that  Effie  had 
always,  when  she  chose  it,  been  smarter  at  her  book  than 
she  herself  was,  but  then  she  was  very  idle,  and,  upon 
the  whole,  had  made  much  less  proficiency.  Love,  or  fear, 
or  necessity,  however,  had  proved  an  able  school-mistress, 
and  completely  supplied   all  her  deficiencies. 

What  Jeanie  least  liked  in  the  tone  of  the  letter  was  a 
smothered  degree  of  egotism.  "We  should  have  heard  little 
about  her,"  said  Jeanie  to  herself,  "but  that  she  was 
feared  the  Duke  might  come  to  learn  wha  she  was,  and  a' 
about  her  puir  friends  here ;  but  Effie,  puir  thing,  aye  looks 
her  ain  way,  and  folk  that  do  that  think  mair  o'  themselves 
•than  of  their  neighbors. — I  am  no  clear  about  keeping  her 
siller,"  she  added,  taking  up  a  £50  note  which  had  fallen 
out  of  the  paper  to  the  floor.  "We  hae  eneugh,  and  it 
looks  unco  like  theftboot,  or  hush-money,  as  they  ca'  it; 
she  might  hae  been  sure  fhat  I  wad  say  naething  wad 
harm  her,  for  a'  the  gowd  in  Lunnon.  And  I  maun  tell 
the  minister  about  it.  I  dinna  see  that  she  suld  be  sae 
feared  for  her  ain  bonny  bargain  o'  a  gudeman,  and  that 
I  shouldna  reverence  Mr.  Butler  just  as  much;   and  sae 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  541 

I'll  e'en  tell  him,  when  that  tippliiijjc  body  the  Captain  has 
ta'en  boat  in  the  morning:. — But  I  wonder  at  my  ain  state 
of  mind,''  she  added,  turning:  back,  after  she  had  made  a 
step  or  two  to  the  door  to  join  the  gentlemen;  ''surely  I 
am  not  sic  a  fule  as  to  be  angry  that  Effie's  a  braw  lady, 
while  I  am  only  a  minister's  wife? — and  yet  I  am  as 
petted  as  a  bairn,  when  I  should  bless  God,  that  has  re- 
deemed her  from  shame,  and  poverty,  and  guilt,  as  ower 
likely  she  might  hae  been  plunged  into." 

Sitting  down  upon  a  stool  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  she 
folded  her  arms  upon  her  bosom,  saying  within  herself, 
"From  this  place  will  I  not  rise  till  I  am  in  a  better 
frame  of  mind;"  and  so  placed,  by  dint  of  tearing  the 
veil  from  the  motives  of  her  little  temporary  spleen  against 
her  sister,  she  compelled  herself  to  be  ashamed  of  them, 
and  to  view  as  blessings  the  advantages  of  her  sister's  lot 
while  its  embarrassments  were  the  necessary  consequences 
of  errors  long  since  committed.  And  thus  she  fairly 
vanquished  the  feeling  of  pique  which  she  naturally 
enough  entertained,  at  seeing  Effie,  so  long  the  object  of 
her  care  and  her  pity,  soar  suddenly  so  high  above  her 
in  life,  as  to  reckon  amongst  the  chief  objects  of  her  ap- 
jirehension  the  risk  of  their  relationship  being  discovered. 

When  this  unwonted  burst  of  amour  propro  was  thor- 
oughly subdued,  she  walked  down  to  the  little  parlor  where 
the  gentlemen  were  finishing  their  game,  and  heard  from 
the  Captain  a  confirmation  of  the  news  intimated  in  her 
letter,  that  the  Duke  of  Argyle  was  shortly  expected  at 
Koseneath.  -« 

"He'll  find  plenty  of  moor-fowls  and  plack-cock  on  the 
moors  of  Auchingower,  and  he'll  pe  nae  doubt  for  taking  a 
late  dinner,  and  a  ped  at  the  Manse,  as  he  has  done  pefore 
now." 

"He  has  a  gude  right,  Captain,"  said  Jeanie. 

"Toil  ane  petter  to  ony  ped  in  the  kintra."  answered  the 
Captain.  "And  ye  had  petter  tell  your  father,  puir  body, 
to  get  his  beasts  a'  in  order,  and  put  his  tamn'd  Came- 
cronian  nonsense  out  o'  his  head  for  twa  or  three  days,  if 
he  can  pe  so  opliging;  for  fan  I  speak  to  him  about  ])rute 
})estial,  he  answers  me  out  o'  the  Pible,  whilk  is  not  using 
a  shentleraen  weel,  unless  it  be  n  jicr^on  ..f  v<Mir  <loth, 
Mr.  Putler." 


542  THE   HEAKT   OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

No  one  understood  better  than  Jeanie  the  merit  of  the 
soft  answer,  which  turneth  away  wrath;  and  she  only- 
smiled,  and  hoped  that  his  Grace  would  find  everything 
that  was  under  her  father's  care  to  his  entire  satisfaction. 

But  the  Captain,  who  had  lost  the  whole  postage  of  the 
letter  at  backgammon,  was  in  the  pouting  mood  not  un- 
usual to  losers,  and  which,  says  the  proverb,  must  be 
allowed  to  them. 

"And,  Master  Putler,  though  you  know  I  never  meddle 
with  the  things  of  your  kirk-sessions,  yet  I  must  pe 
allowed  to  say  that  I  will  not  pe  pleased  to  allow  Ailie 
MacClure  of  Deepheugh  to  pe  poonished  as  a  witch,  in 
respect  she  only  spaes  fortunes,  and  does  not  lame,  or 
plind,  or  pedevil  any  persons,  or  coup  cadgers'  carts,  or 
ony  sort  of  mischief;  put  only  tells  people  good  fortunes, 
as  anent  our  poats  killing  so  many  seals  and  doug-fishes, 
whilk  is  very  pleasant  to  hear." 

"The  woman,"  said  Butler,  "is,  I  believe,  no  witch,  but 
a  cheat;  and  it  is  only  on  that  head  that  she  is  sum- 
moned to  the  kirk-session,  to  cause  her  to  desist  in  future 
from  practising  her  impostures  upon  ignorant  persons." 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  gracious  Duncan,  "what 
her  practices  or  her  postures  are,  but  I  pelieve  that  if  the 
poys  take  hould  on  her  to  duck  her  in  the  Clachan  purn, 
it  will  be  a  very  sorry  practice — and  I  pelieve,  moreover, 
that  if  I  come  in  thirdsman  among  you  at  the  kirk-ses- 
sions, you  will  be  all  in  a  tamn'd  pad  posture  indeed." 

Without  noticing  this  threat,  Mr.  Butler  replied,  "That 
he  had  not  attended  to  the  risk  of  ill  usage  which  the 
poor  woman  might  undergo  at  the  hands  of  the  rabble, 
and  that  he  would  give  her  the  necessary  admonition  in 
private,  instead  of  bringing  her  before  the  assembled 
session." 

"This,"  Duncan  said,  "was  speaking  like  a  reasonable 
shentleman ;"  and  so  the  evening  passed  peaceably  oif . 

Next  morning,  after  the  Captain  had  swallowed  his 
morning  draught  of  Athole  brose,  and  departed  in  his 
coach  and  six,  Mrs.  Butler  anew  deliberated  upon  com- 
municating to  her  husband  her  sister's  letter.  But  she 
was  deterred  by  the  recollection,  that,  in  doing  so,  she 
would  unveil  to  him  the  whole  of  a  dreadful  secret,  of 
which,  perhaps,  his  public  character  might  render  him  an 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  543 

unfit  depositary.  Butler  already  had  reason  to  believe 
that  Effie  had  eloped  with  that  same  Robertson  who  had 
been  a  leader  in  the  Porteous  mob,  and  who  lay  under 
sentence  of  death  for  the  robbery  at  Kirkcaldy.  But  he 
did  not  know  his  identity  with  George  Staunton,  a  man 
of  birth  and  fortune,  who  had  now  apjiarently  reassumed 
his  natural  rank  in  society.  Jeanie  had  respected  Staun- 
ton's own  confession  as  sacred,  and  upon  reflection  she 
considered  the  letter  of  her  sister  as  equally  so,  and  re- 
solved to  mention  the  contents  to  no  one. 

On  reperusing  the  letter,  she  could  not  help  observing 
the  staggering  and  unsatisfactory  condition  of  those  who 
have  risen  to  distinction  by  undue  paths,  and  the  out- 
works and  bulwarks  of  fiction  and  falsehood,  by  which 
they  are  under  the  necessity  of  surrounding  and  defend- 
ing their  precarious  advantages.  But  she  was  not  called 
upon,  she  thought,  to  unveil  her  sister's  original  history 
— it  would  restore  no  right  to  any  one,  for  she  was  usurp- 
ing none — it  would  only  destroy  her  happiness,  and  de- 
grade her  in  the  public  estimation.  Had  she  been  wise, 
Jeanie  thought  she  would  have  chosen  seclusion  and 
privacy,  in  place  of  public  life  and  gaiety;  but  the  power 
of  choice  might  not  be  hers.  The  money,  she  thought, 
could  not  be  returned  without  her  seeming  haughty  and 
unkind.  She  resolved,  therefore,  upon  reconsidering  this 
point,  to  employ  it  as  occasion  should  serve,  either  in 
educating  her  children  better  than  her  own  means  could 
compass,  or  for  their  future  portion.  Her  sister  had 
enough,  was  strongly  bound  to  assist  Jeanie  by  any 
means  in  her  power,  and  the  arrangement  was  so  natural 
and  proper,  that  it  ought  not  to  be  declined  out  of  fastidi- 
ous or  romantic  delicacy.  Jeanie  accordingly  wrote  to 
her  sister,  acknowledging  her  letter,  and  requesting  to 
hear  from  her  as  often  as  she  could.  In  entering  into 
her  own  little  details  of  news,  chiefly  respecting  domestic 
afl"airs,  she  experienced  a  singular  vacillation  of  ideas;  for 
sometimes  she  apologized  for  mentioning  things  unworthy 
the  notice  of  a  lady  of  rank,  and  then  recollected  that 
everything  which  concerned  her  should  be  interesting  to 
Effie.  Her  letter,  under  the  cover  of  Mr.  Whiterose,  she 
committed  to  the  post-office  at  Glasgow,  by  the  interven- 
tion of  a  parishioner  who  had  business  at  that  city. 


544  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

The  next  week  brought  the  Duke  to  Koseneath,  and 
shortly  afterward  he  intimated  his  intention  of  sporting 
in  their  neighborhood,  and  taking  his  bed  at  the  Manse; 
an  honor  which  he  had  once  or  twice  done  to  its  inmates 
on  former  occasions. 

Effie  proved  to  be  perfectly  right  in  her  anticipations. 
The  Duke  had  hardly  set  himself  down  at  Mrs.  Butler's 
right  hand,  and  taken  upon  himself  the  task  of  carving 
the  excellent  "barn-door  chucky,"  which  had  been  selected 
as  the  high  dish  upon  this  honorable  occasion,  before  he 
began  to  speak  of  Lady  Staunton  of  Willingham,  in  Lin- 
colnshire, and  the  great  noise  which  her  wit  and  beauty 
made  in  London.  For  much  of  this  Jeanie  was,  in  some 
measure,  prepared — but  Effie's  wit !  that  would  never  have 
entered  into  her  imagination,  being  ignorant  how  exactly 
raillery  in  the  higher  rank  resembles  flippancy  among 
their   inferiors. 

"She  has  been  the  ruling  belle — the  blazing  star — the 
universal  toast  of  the  winter,"  said  the  Duke;  "and  is 
really  the  most  beautiful  creature  that  was  seen  at  court 
upon  the  birthday." 

The  birthday!  and  at  court! — Jeanie  was  annihilated, 
remembering  well  her  owai  presentation,  all  its  extraordi- 
nary circumstances,  and  particularly  the  cause  of  it. 

"I  mention  this  lady  particularly  to  you,  Mrs.  Butler," 
said  the  Duke,  "because  she  has  something  in  the  sound 
of  her  voice,  and  cast  of  hex  countenance,  that  reminded 
me  of  you — not  when  you  look  so  pale  though — you  have 
overfatigued  yourself — you  must  pledge  me  in  a  glass  of 
wine." 

She  did  so,  and  Butler  observed,  "It  was  dangerous 
flattery  in  his  Grace  to  tell  a  poor  minister's  wife  that 
she  was  like  a  court-beauty." 

"Oho!  Mr.  Butler,"  said  the  Duke,  "I  find  you  are 
growing  jealous;  but  it's  rather  top  late  in  the  day,  for 
you  know  how  long  I  have  admired  your  wife.  But 
seriously,  there  is  betwixt  them  one  of  those  inexplicable 
likenesses  which  we  see  in  countenances,  that  do  not  other- 
wise resemble  each  other." 

"The  perilous  part  of  the  compliment  has  flown  off," 
thought  Mr.  Butler. 

His   wife,   feeling   the   awkwardness   of   silence,   forced 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTIIIAX  545 

herself  to  say,  "That,  perhaps,  the  lady  migrht  be  her 
countrywoman,  and  the  language  might  make  some  re- 
semblance." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  replied  the  Duke.  "She  is  a 
Scotchwoman,  and  speaks  with  a  Scotch  accent,  and  now 
and  then  a  provincial  word  drops  out  so  prettily,  that  it 
is  quite  Poric,  ^[r.   Butler." 

"I  should  have  thought,"  said  the  clergyman,  ''that 
would  have  sounded  vulgar  in  the  great  city." 

"Xot  at  all,"  replied  the  Duke;  "you  must  suppose  it  is 
not  the  broad  coarse  Scotch  that  is  spoken  in  the  Cowgate 
of  Edinburgh,  or  in  the  Gorbals.  This  lady  has  been  very 
little  in  Scotland,  in  fact — She  was  educated  in  a  convent 
abroad,  and  speaks  that  pure  court-Scotch,  which  was 
common  in  my  younger  days;  but  it  is  so  generally  dis- 
used now,  that  it  sounds  like  a  different  dialect,  entirely 
distinct  from  our  modern  patois." 

Xotwithstanding  her  anxiety,  Jeanie  could  not  help 
admiring  within  herself,  how  the  most  correct  judges  of 
life  and  manners  can  be  imposed  on  by  their  own  precon- 
ceptions, while  the  Duke  proceeded  thus:  "She  is  of  the 
unfortunate  house  of  Winton,  I  believe;  but,  being  bred 
abroad,  she  had  missed  the  opportunity  of  learning  her 
own  pedigree,  and  was  obliged  to  me  for  informing  her, 
that  she  must  certainly  come  of  the  Setons  of  Windygoul. 
I  wish  you  could  have  seen  how  prettily  she  blushed  at 
her  own  ignorance.  Amidst  her  noble  and  elegant  man- 
ners, there  is  now  and  then  a  little  touch  of  bashfulness 
and  conventual  rusticity,  if  I  may  call  it  so,  that  makes 
her  quite  enchanting.  You  see  at  once  the  rose  that  had 
bloomed  untour-hod  amid  the  chaste  precincts  of  the 
cloister,  Mr.  Butler." 

True  to  the  hint,  Mr.  -Butler  failed  not  to  start  with  his 

'"I't   fl*»s  in   sp{-ti?<  socrotus  naseitur   lortis,"  etc., 

while  his  wife  could  hardly  persuade  herself  that  all  this 
was  spoken  of  Effie  Deans,  and  by  so  competent  a  judge 
as  the  Duke  of  Argyle;  and  had  she  boeT<  acquaint*^*!  with 
Catullus,  would  have  thought  the  fortunes  of  her  sister 
had  reversed  the  whole  passage. 

She  was,  however,  determined  to  obtain  some  indenuii- 


546  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

fication  for  the  anxious  feelings  of  the  moment,  by  gain- 
ing all  the  intelligence  she  could;  and  therefore  ventured 
to  make  some  inquiry  about  the  husband  of  the  lady  his 
Grace  admired  so  much. 

"He  is  very  rich,"  replied  the  Duke;  "of  an  ancient 
family,  and  has  good  manners;  but  he  is  far  from  being 
such  a  general  favorite  as  his  wife.  Some  people  say  he 
can  be  very  pleasant — I  never  saw  him  so;  but  should 
rather  judge  him  reserved,  and  gloomy,  and  capricious. 
He  was  very  wild  in  his  youth,  they  say,  and  has  bad 
health;  yet  he  is  a  good-looking  man  enough — a  great 
friend  of  your  Lord  High  Commissioner  of  the  Kirk,  Mr. 
Butler." 

"Then  he  is  the  friend  of  a  very  worthy  and  honorable 
nobleman,"  said  Butler. 

"Does  he  admire  his  lady  as  much  as  other  people  do  ?" 
said  Jeanie,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Who — Sir  George?  They  say  he  is  very  fond  of  her," 
said  the  Duke ;  "but  I  observe  she  trembles  a  little  when  he 
fixes  his  eye  on  her,  and  that  is  no  good  sign — But  it  is 
strange  how  I  am  haunted  by  this  resemblance  of  yours  to 
Lady  Staunton,  in  look  and  tone  of  voice.  One  would 
almost  swear  yor.   vvere  sisters." 

Jeanie's  distress  became  uncontrollable,  and  beyond  con- 
cealment. The  Duke  of  Argjde  was  much  disturbed, 
good-naturedly  ascribing  it  to  his  having  unwittingly 
recalled  to  her  remembrance  her  family  misfortunes.  He 
was  too  well-bred  to  attempt  to  apologize;  but  hastened 
to  change  the  subject,  and  arrange  certain  points  of  dis- 
pute which  had  occurred  betwixt  Duncan  of  Knock  and 
the  minister,  acknowledging  that  his  worthy  substitute 
was  sometimes  a  little  too  obstinate,  as  well  as  too  ener- 
getic, in  his  executive  measures. 

Mr.  Butler  admitted  his  general  merits;  but  said,  "He 
would  presume  to  apply  to  the  worthy  gentleman  the 
words  of  the  poet  to  Marrucinus  Asinius, 

'Manu 


Non  belle  uteris  in  joco  atque  vino.' " 

The  discourse   being  thus  turned   on  parish  business, 
nothing  farther  occurred  that  can  interest  the  reader. 


THE   HEART   OF    MID-LOTHIAN  547 


CHAPTER    XLTX 

Upon  my  head  they  placed  a  fruitless  crown. 
And   put   a   harren    sceptre   in    my   gripe, 
Thence  to  be  wrench'd  by  an  unlineal  hand, 
No  son   of  mine  succeeding. 

Macbeth. 

After  this  period,  but  tinder  the  most  strict  precautions 
aprainst  discovery,  the  sisters  corresponded  occasionally, 
exchanffing-  letters  about  twice  every  year.  Those  of 
Lady  Staunton  spoke  of  her  husband's  health  and  spirits 
as  being-  deplorably  uncertain ;  her  own  seemed  also  to  be 
sinkinjr,  and  one  of  the  topics  on  which  she  most  fre- 
quently dwelt  was  their  want  of  family.  Sir  Georj^e 
Staunton,  always  violent,  had  taken  some  aversion  at  the 
next  heir,  whom  he  suspected  of  havinp:  irritated  his 
friends  against  him  during  his  absence;  and  he  declared, 
he  would  bequeath  Willingham  and  all  its  lands  to  a 
hospital,  ere  that  fetch-and-carry  tell-tale  should  inherit 
an  acre  of  it. 

^•Had  he  but  a  child,"  said  the  unfortunate  wife,  "or 
had  that  luckless  infant  survived,  it  would  be  some  motive 
for  living-  and  for  exertion.  But  Heaven  has  denied  us  a 
blessing-  which  we  have  not  deserved." 

Such  complaints,  in  varied  form,  but  turning:  frequently 
on  the  same  topic,  filled  the  letters  which  passed  from 
the  spacious  but  melancholy  halls  of  Willingham,  to  the 
quiet  and  happy  parsonage  at  Knocktarlitie.  Years 
meanwhile  rolled  on  amid  these  fruitless  repinings.  John, 
Duke  of  Argyle  and  Greenwich,  died  in  the  year  1743, 
universally  lamented,  but  by  none  more  than  by  the 
Butlers,,  to  whom  his  benevolence  had  been  so  distin- 
^ui.shed.  He  was  succeeded  by  his  brother  Duke  Archi- 
bald, with  whom  they  had  not  the  same  intimacy;  but 
who  continued  the  protection  which  his  brother  had  ex- 
tended toward  them.  This,  indeed,  became  more  nrcps- 
sary  than  ever;  for,  after  the  breaking  out  and  suppres- 
sion ot  the  rebellion  in  1745,  the  peace  of  the  country, 
adjafcnt  to  the  Highlands,  was  considerably  disturbed. 
Marauders,  or  men  that  had  been  driven  to  that  desperate 


548  THE   HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

mode  of  life,  quartered  themselves  in  the  fastnesses  nearest 
to' the  Lowlands,  which  were  their  scene  of  plunder;  and 
there  is  scarce  a  glen  in  the  romantic  and  now  peaceable 
Hiorhlands  of  Perth,  Stirling,  and  Dumbartonshire,  where 
one  or  more  did  not  take  up  their  residence. 

The  prime  pest  of  the  parish  of  Knocktarlitie  was  a 
certain  Donacha  dhu  na  Dunaigh,  or  Black  Duncan  the 
Mischievous,  whom  we  have  already,  casually  mentioned. 
This  fellow  had  been  originally  a  tinkler  or  caird;  many 
of  whom  stroll  about  these  districts;  but  when  all  police 
was  disorganized  by  the  civil  war,  he  threw  up  his  pro- 
fession, and  from  half  thief  became  whole  robber;  and 
being  generally  at  the  head  of  three  or  four  active  young 
fellows,  and  he  himself  artful,  bold,  and  well  acquainted 
with  the  passes,  he  plied  his^  new  profession  with  emolu- 
ment to  himself,  and  infinite  plague  to  the  country. 

All  were  convinced  that  Duncan  of  Knock  could  have 
put  down  his  namesake  Donacha  any  morning  he  had  a 
mind;  for  there  were  in  the  parish  a  set  of  stout  young 
men,  who  had  joined  Argyle's  banner  in  the  war  under 
his  old  friend,  and  behaved  very  well  upon  several  oc- 
casions. And  as  for  their  leader,  as  no  one  doubted  his 
courage,  it  was  generally  supposed  that  Donacha  had 
found  out  the  mode'of  conciliating  his  favor,  a  thing 
not  very  uncommon  in  that  age  and  country.  This  was 
the  more  readily  believed,  as  David  Deans's  cattle  (being 
the  property  of  the  Duke)  were  left  untouched,  when  the 
minister's  cows  were  carried  oif  by  the  thieves.  Another 
attempt  was  made  to  renew  the  same  act  of  rapine,  and  the 
cattle  were  in  the  act  of  being  driven  off,  when  Butler, 
laying  his  profession  aside  in  a  case  of  such  necessity, 
put  himself  at  the  head  of  some  of  his  neighbors,  and 
rescued  the  creagh,  an  exploit  at  which  Deans  attended  in 
person,  notwithstanding  his  extreme  old  age,  mounted  on 
a  Highland  pony,  and  girded  with  an  old  broadsword, 
likening  himself  (for  he  failed  not  to  arrogate  the  whole 
merit  of  the  expedition)  to  David,  the  son  of  Jesse,  when 
he  recovered  the  spoil  of  Ziklag  from  the  Amalekites. 
This  spirited  behavior  had  so  far  a  good  eifect,  that 
Donacha  dhu  na  Dunaigh  kept  his  distance  for  some 
time  to  come;  and,  though  his  distant  exploits  were  fre- 
quently spoken  of,  he  did  not  exercise  any  depredations 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  549 

in  that  part  of  the  country.  He  continued  to  flourish, 
and  to  be  heard  of  occasionally,  until  the  year  1751,  when, 
if  the  fear  of  the  second  David  had  kept  him  in  check, 
fate  released  him  from  that  restraint,  for  the  venerable 
patriarch  of  St.  Leonard's  was  that  year  gathered  to  his 
fathers. 

David  Deans  died  full  of  years  and  of  honor.  He  is 
believed,  for  the  exact  time  of  his  birth  is  not  known,  to 
have  lived  upward  of  ninety  years;  for  he  used  to  speak 
of  events  as  falling  under  his  own  knowledge,  which  hap- 
pened about  the  time  of  the  battle  of  Bothwell  Bridge.  It 
was  said  that  he  even  bore  arms  there ;  for  once,  when  a 
drunken  Jacobite  laird  wished  for  a  Bothwell-Brigg  whig, 
that  ''he  might  stow  the  lugs  out  of  his  head,"  David  in- 
formed him  with  a  peculiar  austerity  of  countenance, 
that,  if  he  liked  to  trj^  such  a  prank,  there  was  one  at  his 
elbow;  and  it  required  the  interference  of  Butler  to  pre- 
serve the  peace. 

He  expired  in  the  arms  of  his  beloved  daughter,  thank- 
ful for  all  the  blessings  which  Providence  had  vouch- 
safed to  "him  while  in  this  valley  of  strife  and  toil — and 
thankful  also  for  the  trials  he  had  been  visited  with ; 
having  found  them,  he  said,  needful  to  mortify  that  spir- 
itual pride  and  confidence  in  his  own  gifts,  which  was 
the  side  on  which  the  wily  Enemy  did  most  sorely  beset 
him.  He  prayed  in  the  most  affecting  manner  for  Jeanie, 
her  husband,  and  her  family,  and  that  her  affectionate 
duty  to  the  puir  auld  man  might  purchase  her  length  of 
days  here,  and  happiness  hereafter;  then,  in  a  pathetic 
l)etition,  too  well  understood  by  those  who  knew  his  family 
circumstances,  he  besought  the  Shepherd  of  souls,  while 
gathering  His  flock,  not  to  forget  the  little  one  that  had 
strayed  from  the  fold,  and  even  then  might  be  in  the 
hands  of  the  ravening  wolf. — He  prayed  for  the  national 
Jerusalem,  that  peace  might  be  in  her  land,  and  prosperity 
in  her  palaces — for  the  welfare  of  the  honorable  House  of 
Argyle,  and  for  the  conversion  of  Duncan  of  Knock- 
dunder.  After  this  he  was  silent,  being  exhausted,  nor 
did  he  again  utter  anything  distinctly.  He  was  heard, 
indeed,  to  mutter  something  about  national  defections, 
right-hand  extremes,  and  left-hand  fallings  otT;  but,  as 
May  Hettly  observed,  his  head  was  carried  at  the  time: 


550  THE   HEART    OF    MIB-LOTHIAN 

and  it  is  probable  that  these  expressions  occurred  to  him 
merely  out  of  general  habit,  and  that  he  died  in  the  full 
spirit  of  charity  with  all  men.  About  an  hour  afterward 
he  slept  in  the  Lord. 

Notwithstanding  her  father's  advanced  age,  his  death 
was  a  severe  shock  to  Mrs.  Butler.  Much  of  her  time  had 
been  dedicated  to  attending  to  his  health  and  his  wishes, 
and  she  felt  as  if  part  of  her  business  in  the  world  was 
ended,  when  the  good  old  man  was  no  more.  His  wealth, 
which  came  nearly  to  fifteen  hundred  pounds,  in  dis- 
posable capital,  served  to  raise  the  fortunes  of  the  family 
at  the  Manse.  How  to  dispose  of  this  sum  for  the  best 
advantage  of  his  family,  was  matter  of  anxious  con- 
sideration to  Butler. 

"If  we  put  it  on  heritable  bond  we  shall  maybe  lose 
the  interest;  for  there's  that  bond  over  Lounsbeck's  land, 
your  father  could  neither  get  principal  nor  interest  for 
it — If  we  bring  it  into  the  funds,  we  shall  maybe  lose  the 
principal  and  all,  as  many  did  in  the  South  Sea  scheme. 
The  little  estate  of  Craigsture  is  in  the  market — it  lies 
within  two  miles  of  the  Manse,  and  Knock  says  his  Grace 
has  no  thought  to  buy  it.  But  they  ask  £2500,  and  they 
may,  for  it  is  worth  the  money;  and  were  I  to  borrow  the 
balance,  the  creditor  might  call  it  up  suddenly,  or  in  case 
of  my  death  my  family  might  be  distressed." 

"And  so,  if  we  had  mair  siller,  we  might  buy  that 
bonny  pasture-ground,  where  the  grass  comes  so  early?" 
asked  Jeanie. 

"Certainly,  my  dear;  and  Knockdunder,  who  is  a  good 
judge,  is  strongly  advising  me  to  it. — To  be  sure  it  is  his 
nephew  that  his  selling  it." 

"Aweel,  Reuben,"  said  Jeanie,  "ye  maun  just  look  up  a 
text  in  Scripture,  as  ye  did  when  ye  wanted  siller  be- 
fore— just  look  up  a  text  in  the  Bible." 

"Ah,  Jeanie,"  said  Butler,  laughing  and  pressing  her 
hand  at  the  same  time,  "the  best  people  in  these  times  can 
only   work  miracles   once." 

"We  will  see,"  said  Jeanie  composedly;  and  going  to 
the  closet  in  which  she  kept  her  honey,  her  sugar,  her 
pots  of  jelly,  her  vials  of  the  more  ordinary  medicines,  and 
which  served  her,  in  short,  as  a  sort  of  store-room,  she 
jangled   vials    and   gallipots,   till,   from   out   the   darkest 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTIIIAX  551 

iiKok.  well  flanked  by  a  triple  row  of  bottles  and  jars, 
wliith  she  was  under  the  neeessity  of  displaoinj?,  she 
bruupht  a  cracked  brown  cann,  with  a  piece  of  leather  tied 
over  the  top.  Its  contents  seemed  to  be  written  papers, 
thrust  in  disorder  into  this  uncommon  secretaire.  But 
fn»m  amonjx  these  Jeanie  brought  an  old  clasped  Bible, 
which  had  been  David  Deans's  companion  in  his  earlier 
wanderings,  and  which  he  ha'd  given  to  his  daughter  when 
the  failure  of  his  eyes  had  compelled  him  to  use  one  of 
a  larger  print.  This  she  gave  to  Butler,  who  had  been 
looking  at  her  motions  with  some  surj^rise,  and  desired 
him  to  see  what  that  book  could  do  for  him.  He  opened 
the  clasps,  and  to  his  astonishment  a  parcel  of  £50  bank- 
notes dropped  out  from  betwixt  the  leaves,  where  they 
had  been  separately  lodged,  and  fluttered  upon  the 
floor.  'T  didna  think  to  hae  tauld  you  o'  my  wealth, 
Reuben,"  said  his  wife,  smiling  at  his  surprise,  "till  on 
my  deathbed,  or  maybe  on  some  family  pinch ;  but  it  wad 
l)e  better  laid  out  on  yon  bonny  grass-holms,  than  lying 
useless  here  in  this  ould  pigg." 

"How  on  earth  came  ye  by  that  siller,  Jeanie? — Why, 
here  is  more  than  a  thousand  pounds,"  said  Butler,  lifting 
up  and  counting  the  notes.. 

•"If  it  were  ten  thousand,  it's  a'  honestly  come  by," 
said  Jeanie;  "and  troth  I  kenna  how  muckle  there  is  o't, 
but  it's  a'there  that  ever  I  got. — And  as  for  how  I  came 
by  it,  Reuben — it's  weel  come  by,  and  honestly,  as  I  said 
before — And  it's  mair  folk's  secret  than  mine,  or  ye  wad 
hae  kend  about  it  lang  syne;  and  as  for  onything  else,  T 
am  not  free  to  answer  mair  questions  about  it,  and  ye 
maun  just  ask  me  nane." 

"Answer  me  but  one,"  said  Butler.  "Is  it  all  freely  and 
indisputably  your  own  property,  to  dispose  of  it  as  you 
think  fit? — Is  it  possible  no  one  has  a  claim  in  so  large  a 
sum  except  you?" 

"It  was  mine,  free  to  dispose  of  it  as  I  like,"  answered 
Jeanie;  "and  I  have  disposed  of  it  already,  for  now  it  is 
yours,  Reuben — You  are  Bible  Butler  now,  as  weel  as 
your  forebear,  that  my  puir  father  had  sic  an  ill  will  at. 
Only,  if  ye  like,  I  wad  wish  Femie  to  get  a  gude  share 
o't  when   we  are  gane." 

"Certainly,  it  shall  be  as  you  choose — But  who  on  earth 


552  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

ever  pitched  on  such  a  hiding-place  for  temporal  treas- 
ures ?" 

"That  is  just  ane  o'  my  auld-fashioned  gates,  as  you 
ca'  them,  Reuben.  I  thought  if  Donacha  Dhu  was  to 
make  an  outbreak  upon  us,  the  Bible  was  the  last  thing 
in  the  house  he  wad  meddle  wi' — but  an  ony  mair  siller 
should  drap  in,  as  it  is  not  unlikely,  I  shall  e'en  pay  it 
ower  to  you,  and  ye  may  lay  it  out  your  ain  way." 

"And  I  positively  must  not  ask  you  how  you  have  come 
by  all  this  money?"  said  the  clergyman. 

"Indeed,  Reuben,  you  must  not;  for  if  you  were  asking 
me  very  sair  I  wad  maybe  tell  you,  and  then  I  am  sure 
I  would  do  wrong." 

"But  tell  me,"  said  Butler,  "is  it  anything  that  dis- 
tresses your   own   mind?" 

"There  is  baith  weal  and  woe  come  aye  wi'  warld's  gear, 
Reuben;  but  ye  maun  ask  me  naething  mair — This  siller 
binds  me  to  naething,  and  can  never  be  speered  back 
again." 

"Surely,"  said  Mr.  Butler,  when  he  had  again  counted 
over  the  money,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  the  notes 
were  real,  "there  was  never  man  in  the  world  had  a  wife 
like  mine — a  blessing  seems  to  follow  her." 

"Never,"  said  Jeanie,  "since  the  enchanted  princess  in 
the  bairn's  fairy  tale,  that  kamed  gold  nobles  out  o'  the 
tae  side  of  her  haffit  locks,  and  Dutch  dollars  out  o'  the 
t'other.  But  gang  away  now,  minister,  and  put  by  the 
siller,  and  dinna  keep  the  notes  wampishing  in  your  hand 
that  gate,  or  I  shall  wish  them  in  the  brown  pigg  again, 
for  fear  we  get  a  black  cast  about  them — we're  ower  near 
the  hills  in  these  times  to  be  thought  to  hae  siller  in  the 
house.  And,  besides,  ye  maun  gree  wi'  Knockdunder, 
that  has  the  selling  o'  the  lands;  and  dinna  you  be  simple 
and  let  him  ken  o'  this  windfa',  but  keep-  him  to  the  very 
lowest  penny,  as  if  ye  had  to  borrow  siller  to  make  the 
price  up." 

In  the  last  admonition  Jeanie  showed  distinctly,  that, 
although  she  did  not  understand  how  to  secure  the  money 
which  came  into  her  hands  otherwise  than  by  saving  and 
hoarding  it,  yet  she  had  some  part  of  her  father  David's 
shrewdness,    even   upon   worldly   subjects.      And   Reuben 


THE    IIKAKT    OF    MlD-LoTlIlAX  553 

Butler  was  a  prudent  man,  and  went  and  did  even  as  his 
A-ife  had  advised  him. 

The  news  quiekly  went  abroad  into  the  parish  that  the 
minister  had  bought  Craigrsture;  and  some  wished  him 
ioy.  and  some  "were  sorrj-  it  had  pane  out  of  the  auld 
lame.''  However,  his  clerical  brethren,  understanding 
hat  he  was  under  the  necessity  of  going  to  Edinburgh 
ibout  the  ensuing  Whitsunday,  to  get  together  David 
[)eans's  cash  to  make  up  the  purchase-money  of  his  new 
ic(iuisition.  took  the  opportunity  to  name  him  their  dele- 
fate  to  the  General  Assembly,  or  Convocation  of  the 
Scottish  Church,  which  takes  pl^ce  usually  in  the  latter 
jnd  of  the  month  of  May. 


CHAPTER   L 

But  who  is  this?  what  thing  of  sea  or  land — 

Female  of  sex  it  seems — 

That   so  bedeck'd,  ornate,  and  gay. 

Comes    this    way    sailing? 

Milton. 

Sot  long  after  the  incident  of  the  Bible  and  the  bank- 
lot^s,  Fortune  showed  that  she  could  surprise  Mrs.  Butler 
is  well  as  her  husband.  The  minister,  in  order  to  ac- 
jomplish  the  various  pieces  of  business,  w^hich  his  un- 
vonted  visit  to  Edinburgh  rendered  necessary,  had  been 
mder  the  necessity  of  setting  out  from  home  in  the  latter 
!nd  of  the  month  of  February,  concluding  justly,  that  he 
vould  find  the  space  betwixt  his  departure  and  the  term 
)f  Whitsunday  (24th  May)  short  enough  for  the  purpose 
)f  bringing  forward  those  various  debtors  of  old  David 
Deans,  out  of  whose  purses  a  considerable  part  of  the 
)rice  of  his  new  purchase  was  to  be  made  good. 

Jeanie  was  thus  in  the  unwonted  situation  of  inhabiting 
I  lonely  house,  and  she  ftdt  yet  more  solitary  from  the 
leath  of  the  good  old  man,  who  used  to  divide  her  cares 
vith  her  husband.  Her  children  were  her  principal  re- 
lource,  and  to  them  she  paid  constant  attention. 

Tt  happened,  a  day  or  two  after  Butler's  departure,  that, 
vhile    she    was    engaged    in    some    domestic    duties,    she 


554  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

heard  a  dispute  among  the  young  folk,  which,  being  main- 
tained with  obstinacy,  appeared  to  call  for  her  interfer- 
ence. All  came  to  their  natural  umpire  with  their  com- 
plaints. Femie,  not  yet  ten  years  old,  charged  Davie  and 
Reubie  with  an  attempt  to  take  away  her  book  by  force; 
and  David  and  Reuben  replied,  the  elder,  "That  it  was  not 
a  book  for  Femie  to  read,"  and  Reuben,  "That  it  was  about 
a  bad  woman." 

"Where  did  you  get  the  book,  ye  little  hempie?"  said 
Mrs.  Butler.  "How  dare  ye  touch  papa's  books  when  he 
is  away?" 

But  the  little  lady,  holding  fast  a  sheet  of  crumpled 
paper,  declared,  "It  was  nane  o'  papa's  books,  and  May 
Hettly  had  taken  it  off  the  muckle  cheese  which  came 
from  Inverara ;"  for,  as  was  very  natural  to  suppose,  a 
friendly  intercourse,  with  interchange  of  mutual  civilities, 
was  kept  up  from  time  to  time  between  Mrs.  Dolly 
Dutton,  now  Mrs.  MacCorkindale,  and  her  former  friends. 

Jeanie  took  the  subject  of  contention  out  of  the  child's 
hand,  to  satisfy  herself  of  the  propriety  of  her  studies; 
but  how  much  was  she  struck  when  she  read  upon  the 
title  of  the  broadside-sheet,  "The  Last  Speech,  Confession, 
and  Dying  Words  of  Margaret  MacCraw,  or  Murdockson, 

executed  on  Harabee  Hill,  near  Carlisle,  the  —  day  of 

1737."  It  was,  indeed,  one  of  those  papers  which  Archi- 
bald had  bought  at  Longtown,  when  he  monopolized  the 
pedlar's  stock,  which  Dolly  had  thrust  into  her  trunk  out 
of  sheer  economy.  One  or  two  copies,  it  seems,  had  re- 
mained in  her  repositories  at  Inverary,  till  she  chanced 
to  need  them  in  packing  a  cheese,  which,  as  a  very  superior 
production,  was  sent,  in  the  way  of  civil  challenge,  to  the 
dairy  at  Knocktarlitie. 

The  title  of  this  paper,  so  strangely  fallen  into  the  very 
hands  from  which,  in  well-meant  respect  to  her  feelings, 
it  had  been  so  long  detained,  was  of  itself  sufficiently 
startling;  but  the  narrative  itself  was  so  interesting,  that 
Jeanie,  shaking  herself  loose  from  the  children,  ran  up- 
stairs to  her  own  apartment,  and  bolted  the  door,  to  peruse 
it  without  interruption. 

The  narrative,  which  appeared  to  have  been  drawn  up, 
or  at  least  corrected,  by  the  clergyman  who  attended  this 
unhappy  woman,  stated  the  crime  for  which  she  suffered 


THE    HEART    OF    :MlI)-LOTnJAN  555 

to  have  been  "her  aetive  part  in  that  atrocious  robbery 
and  murder,  committed  near  two  years  since  near  Halt- 
whistle,  for  which  the  notorious  Frank  Levitt  was  com- 
mitted for  trial  at  Lancaster  assizes.  It  was  supposed 
the  evidence  of  the  accomplice,  Thomas  Tuck,  commonly 
called  Tyburn  Tom,  upon  which  the  woman  had  been 
convicted,  w^ould  weigh  equally  heavy  against  him; 
although  many  were  inclined  to  think  it  was  Tuck  him- 
self who  had  struck  the  fatal  blow,  according  to  the  dying 
statement  of  Meg  Murdockson." 

After  a  circumstantial  account  of  the  crime  for  which 
she  suffered,  there  was  a  brief  sketch  of  Margaret's  life. 
It  was  stated,  that  she  was  a  Scotchwoman  by  birth,  and 
married  a  soldier  in  the  Cameronian  regiment — that  she 
long  followed  the  camp,  and  had  doubtless  acquired  in 
fields  of  battle,  and  similar  scenes,  that  ferocity  and  love 
of  plunder  for  which  she  had  been  afterward  distinguished 
— that  her  husband,  having  obtained  his  discharge,  became 
servant  to  a  beneficed  clergyman  of  high  situation  and 
character  in  Lincolnshire,  and  that  she  acquired  the 
confidence  and  esteem  of  that  honorable  family.  She  had 
lost  this  many  years  after  her  husband's  death,  it  was 
stated,  in  consequence  of  conniving  at  the  irregularities 
of  her  daughter  with  the  heir  of  the  family,  added  to  the 
suspicious  circumstances  attending  the  birth  of  a  child, 
which  was  strongly  suspected  to  have  met  with  foul  play, 
in  order  to  preserve,  if  possible,  the  girl's  reputation. 
After  this,  she  had  led  a  wandering  life  both  in  England 
and  Scotland,  under  color  sometimes  of  telling  fortunes, 
sometimes  of  driving  a  trade  in  smuggled  wares,  but,  in 
fact,  receiving  stolen  goods,  and  occasionally  actively 
joining  in  the  exploits  by  which  they  were  obtained.  Many 
of  her  crimes  she  had  boasted  of  after  conviction,  and 
there  was  one  circumstance  for  which  she  seemed  to  feel 
a  mixture  of  joy  and  occasional  compunction.  When  she 
was  residing  in  the  suburbs  of  Edinburgh  during  the  pre- 
ceding summer,  a  girl,  who  had  been  seduced  by  one  of 
her  confederates,  was  entrusted  to  her  c-hargo.  and  in  her 
house  delivered  of  a  male  infant.  Her  daughter,  wdiose 
mind  was  in  a  state  of  derangement  ever  since  she  had 
lost  her  own  child,  according  to  the  criminal's  account, 
carried  off  the  poor  girl's  infant,  taking  it  for  her  own,  of 


656  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

the  reality  of  whose  death  she  at  times  could  not  be 
persuaded. 

Margaret  Murdockson  stated,  that  she,  for  some  time, 
believed  her  daughter  had  actually  destroyed  the  infant 
in  her  mad  fits,  and  that  she  gave  the  father  to  under- 
stand so,  but  afterward  learned  that  a  female  stroller  had 
got  it  from  her.  She  showed  some  compunction  at  having 
separated  mother  and  child,  especially  as  the  mother  had 
nearly  suffered  death,  being  condemned,  on  the  Scotch 
law,  for  the  supposed  murder  of  her  infant.  When  it  was 
asked  what  possible  interest  she  could  have  had  in  ex- 
posing the  unfortunate  girl  to  suffer  for  a  crime  she  had 
not  committed,  she  asked,  if  they  thought  she  was  going 
to  put  her  own  daughter  into  trouble  to  save  another? 
She  did  not  know  what  the  Scotch  law  would  have  done 
to  her  for  carrying  the  child  away.  This  answer  was  by 
no  means  satisfactory  to  the  clergyman,  and  he  discovered, 
by  close  examination,  that  she  had  a  deep  and  revengeful 
hatred  against  the  young  person  whom  she  had  thus  in- 
jured. But  the  paper  intimated,  that,  whatever  besides 
she  had  communicated  upon  this  subject,  was  confided  by 
her  in  private  to  the  worthy  and  reverend  Archdeacon  who 
had  bestowed  such  particular  pains  in  affording  her 
spiritual  assistance.  The  broadside  went  on  to  intimate, 
that,  after  her  execution,  of  which  the  particulars  were 
given,  her  daughter,  the  insane  person  mentioned  more 
than  once,  and  who  was  generally  known  by  the  name  of 
Madge  Wildfire,  had  been  very  ill-used  by  the  populace, 
under  the  belief  that  she  was  a  sorceress,  and  an  accom- 
plice in  her  mother's  crimes,  and  had  been  with  difficulty 
rescued  by  the  prompt  interference  of  the  police. 

Such  (for  we  omit  moral  reflections,  and  all  that  may 
seem  unnecessary  to  the  explanation  of  our  story)  was 
the  tenor  of  the  broadside.  To  Mrs.  Butler  it  contained 
intelligence  of  the  highest  importance,  since  it  seemed  to 
afford  the  most  unequivocal  proof  of  her  sister's  innocence 
respecting  the  crime  for  which  she  had  so  nearly  suffered. 
It  is  true,  neither  she,  nor  her  husband,  nor  even  her 
father,  had  ever  believed  her  capable  of  touching  her  in- 
fant with  an  unkind  hand  when  in  possession  of  her 
reason;  but  there  was  a  darkness  on  the  subject  and 
what  might  have  happened  in  a  moment  of  insanity  was 


THE    IIKAIIT    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  557 

dreadful  to  think  upon.  Besides,  whatever  was  their 
own  convietion,  they  had  no  means  of  establishing  Effie's 
innocenee  to  the  world,  whieh,  according  to  the  tenor  of 
this  fuszitive  publication,  was  now  at  length  completely- 
manifested  by  the  dying  confession  of  the  person  chiefly 
interested   in  concealing   it. 

After  thanking  God  for  a  discovery  so  dear  to  her 
feelings,  Mrs.  Butler  began  to  consider  what  use  she 
shouM  make  of  it.  To  have  shown  it  to  her  husband 
would  have  been  her  first  impulse;  but,  besides  that  he 
was  absent  from  home,  and  the  matter  too  delicate  to  be 
the  subject  of  correspondence  by  an  indifferent  penwoman, 
Mrs.  Butler  recollected  that  he  was  not  possessed  of  the 
information  necessary  to  form  a  judgment  upon  the  oc- 
casion ;  and  that,  adhering  to  the  rule  which  she  had  con- 
sidered as  most  advisable,  she  had  best  transmit  the  in- 
formation immediately  to  her  sister,  and  leave  her  to 
adjust  with  her  husband  the  mode  in  which  they  should 
avail  themselves  of  it.  Accordingly,  she  despatched  a 
special  messenger  to  Glasgow,  with  a  packet,  enclosing  the 
Confession  of  Margaret  Murdockson,  addressed,  as  usual, 
under  cover,  to  ^fr.  Whiterose  of  York.  She  expected, 
with  anxiety,  an  answer,  but  none  arrived  in  the  usual 
course  of  post,  and  she  was  left  to  imagine  how  many 
various  causes  might  account  for  Lady  Staunton's  silence. 
She  began  to  be  half  sorry  that  she  had  parted  with  the 
printed  paper,  both  for  fear  of  its  having  fallen  into  bad 
hands,  and  from  the  desire  of  regaining  the  document, 
which  might  be  essential  to  establish  her  sister's  innocence. 
She  was  even  doubting  whether  she  had  not  better  com- 
mit the  whole  matter  to  her  husband's  consideration,  when 
other  incidents  occurred  to  divert  her  purpose. 

Jeanie  (she  is  a  favorite,  and  wc  beg  her  pardon  for  still 
using  the  familiar  title)  had  walked  down  to  the  sea-side 
•with  her  children  one  morning  after  breakfast,  when  the 
boys,  whose  sight  was  more  discriminating  than  hers,  ex- 
claimed, that  '"the  Captain's  coach  and  six  was  coming 
right  for  the  shore,  with  ladies  in  it."  Jeanie  instinctively 
bent  her  eyes  on  the  approa(;hing  boat,  and  became  soon 
sensible  that  there  were  two  females  in  the  stem,  seated 
beside  the  gracious  Duncan,  who  acte«l  as  pilot.  It  was  a 
point  of  politeness  to  walk  toward   the  landing-place,   in 


558  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

order  to  receive  them,  especially  as  she  saw  that  the  Cap- 
tain of  Knockdunder  was  upon  honor  and  ceremony.  His 
piper  was  in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  sending  forth  music,  of 
which  one  half  sounded  the  better  that  the  other  was 
drowned  by  the  waves  and  the  breeze.  Moreover,  he  him- 
self had  his  brigadier  wig  newly  frizzed,  his  bonnet  (he 
had  abjured  the  cocked-hat)  decorated  with  Saint  George's 
red  cross,  his  uniform  mounted  as  a  captain  of  militia, 
the  Duke's  flag  with  the  boar's  head  displayed — all  inti- 
mated parade  and  gala. 

As  Mrs.  Butler  approached  the  landing-place,  she  ob- 
served the  Captain  hand  the  ladies  ashore  with  marks  of 
great  attention,  and  the  parties  advanced  toward  her,  the 
Captain  a  few  steps  before  the  two  ladies,  of  whom  the 
taller  and  elder  leaned  on  the  shoulder  of  the  other,  who 
seemed  to  be  an  attendant  or  servant. 

As  they  met,  Duncan,  in  his  best,  most  important,  and 
deepest  tone  of  Highland  civility,  "pegged  leave  to  intro- 
duce to  Mrs.  Putler,  Lady — eh — eh — I  hae  forgotten  your 
leddyship's  name!" 

"Never  mind  my  name,  sir,"  said  the  lady;  "I  trust  Mrs. 

Butler  will  be  at  no  loss.     The  Duke's  letter "     And, 

as  she  observed  Mrs.  Butler  look  confused,  she  said  again 
to  Duncan  something  sharply,  "Did  you  not  send  the  letter 
last  night,  sir?" 

"In  troth  and  I  didna,  and  I  crave  your  leddyship's 
pardon;  but  you  see,  matam,  I  thought  it  would  do  as 
weel  to-tay,  pecause  Mrs.  Putler  is  never  taen  out  o'  sorts 
— ^never — and  the  coach  was  out  fishing — and  the  gig  was 

gane  to  Greenock  for  a  crag  of  prandy — and Put 

here's  his  Grace's  letter." 

"Give  it  to  me,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  taking  it  out  of  his 
hand;  "since  you  have  not  found  it  convenient  to  do  me 
the  favor  to  send  it  before  me,  I  will  deliver  it  myself." 

Mrs.  Butler  looked  with  great  attention,  and  a  certain 
dubious  feeling  of  deep  interest,  on  the  lady,  who  thus 
expressed  herself  with  authority  over  the  man  of  author- 
ity, and  to  whose  mandates  he  seemed  to  submit,  resigning 
the  letter  with  a  "Just  as  your  leddyship  is  pleased  to 
order  it." 

The  lady  was  rather  above  the  middle  size,  beautifully 
made,  though  something   embonpoint,  with   a   hand   and 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  559 

irm  exquisitely  formed.  Her  manner  was  easy,  di^ified, 
ind  commanding,  and  seemed  to  evince  high  birth  and  the 
aabits  of  elevated  society.  She  wore  a  travelling  dress — 
1  gray  beaver  hat.  and  a  veil  of  Flanders  lace.  Two  foot- 
men, in  rich  liveries,  who  got  out  of  the  barge,  and  lifted 
ut  a  trunk  and  portmanteau,  appeared  to  belong  to  her 
uite. 

"As    you    did    not    receive    the    letter,    madam,    which 

hould  have  served  for  my  introduction — for  I  presume 

you  are  Mrs.   Butler — I   will  not  present   it  to  you   till 

vou  are  so  good  as  to  admit  me  into  your  house  without 

it." 

'*To  pe  sure,  matam,"  said  Knockdunder,  "ye  canna 
doubt  Mrs.  Putler  will  do  that. — Mrs.  Putler,  this  is  Lady 

Lady — these  tamn'd  Southern  names  rin  out  o'  my 
head  like  a  stane  trowling  down  hill — but  I  pelieve  she  is 
a  Scottish  woman  porn — the  mair  our  credit — and  I  pre- 
sume her  leddyship  is  of  the  house  of " 

"The  Duke  of  Argyle  knows  my  family  very  well,  sir," 
said  the  lady,  in  a  tone  which  seemed  designed  to  silence 
Duncan,  or,  at  any  rate,  which  had  that  effect  com- 
pletely. 

There  was  something  about  the  whole  of  this  stranger's 
address,  and  tone,  and  manner,  which  acted  upon  Jeanie's 
feelings  like  the  illusions  of  a  dream,  that  tease  us  with  a 
puzzling  approach  to  reality.  Something  there  was  of  her 
sister  in  the  gait  and  manner  of  the  stranger,  as  well  as 
in  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and  something  also,  when, 
lifting  her  veil,  she  showed  features,  to  which,  changed 
as  they  were  in  expression  and  complexion,  she  could  not 
but  attach  many  remembrances. 

The  stranger  was  turned  of  thirty  certainly;  but  so 
well  were  her  personal  charms  assisted  by  the  power  of 
dress,  and  arrangement  of  ornament,  that  she  might  well 
have  passed  for  one-and-twenty.  And  her  behavior  was 
so  steady  and  so  composed,  that,  as  often  as  Mrs.  Butler 
perceived  anew  some  point  of  resemblan<'e  to  her  un- 
fortunate sister,  so  often  the  sustained  self-fommai:)d  and 
absolute  composure  of  the  stranger  destroyed  the  ideas 
which  began  to  arise  in  her  imagination.  She  led  the  way 
silently  toward  the  Clause,  lost  in  a  confusion  of  reflec- 
tions,  and   trusting  the  letter  with   which   slic  was  to  be 


560  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

there  entrusted,  would  afford  her  satisfactory  explanatioi 
of  what  was  a  most  puzzling  and  embarrassing  scene. 

The  lady  maintained  in  the  meanwhile  the  manners  oi 
a  stranger  of  rank.  She  admired  the  various  points  oi 
view  like  one  who  has  studied  nature,  and  the  best  repre- 
sentations of  art.  At  length  she  took  notice  of  the 
children. 

"These  are  two  fine  young  mountaineers  —  Yours, 
madam,  I  presume?" 

Jeanie  replied  in  the  affirmative.  The  stranger  sighed, 
and  sighed  once  more  as  they  were  presented  to  her  by 
name. 

"Come  here,  Femie,"  said  Mrs.  Butler,  "and  hold  your 
head  up." 

"What  is  your  daughter's  name,  madam?"  said  the 
lady. 

"Euphemia,  madam,"  answered  Mrs.  Butler. 

"I  thought  the  ordinary  Scottish  contraction  of  the 
name  had  been  Effie,"  replied  the  stranger,  in  a  tone 
which  went  to  Jeanie's  heart ;  for  in  that  single  word  there 
was  more  of  her  sister — more  of  Jang  syne  ideas — than  in 
all  the  reminiscences  which  her  own  heart  had  anticipated, 
or  the  features  and  manner  of  the  stranger  had  suggested. 

When  they  reached  the  Manse,  the  lady  gave  Mrs. 
Butler  the  letter  which  she  had  taken  out  of  the  hands 
of  Knockdunder;  and  as  she  gave  it  she  pressed  her  hand, 
adding  aloud,  "Perhaps,  madam,  you  will  have  the  good- 
ness to  get  me  a  little  milk." 

"And  me  a  drap  of  the  gray-peard,  if  you  please,  Mrs. 
Putler,"  added  Duncan. 

Mrs.  Butler  withdrew,  but,  deputing  to  May  Hettly  and] 
to  David  the  supply  of  the  strangers'  wants,  she  hastened  j 
into  her  own  room  to  read  the  letter.  The  envelope  was  ] 
addressed  in  the  Duke  of  Argyle's  hand,  and  requested  | 
Mrs.  Butler's  attentions  and  civility  to  a  lady  of  rank,  a 
particular  friend  of  his  late  brother.  Lady  Staunton  of  j 
Willingham,  who,  being  recommended  to  drink  goat's,  i 
whey  by  the  phj'-sicians,  was  to  honor  the  Lodge  at  Rose-  I 
neath  with  her  residence,  while  her  husband  made  a  short  ' 
tour  in  Scotland.  But  within  the  same  cover,  which  had  ^ 
been  given  to  Lady  Staunton  unsealed,  was  a  letter  from  | 
that  lady,  intended  to  prepare  her  sister  for  meeting  her,  \ 


THE    HEART    OF   MID-LOTIIIAX  561 

and  which,  but  for  the  Captain's  negligence,  she  ought  to 
have  received  on  the  preceding  evening.  It  stated  that 
the  news  in  Jeanie's  last  letter  had  been  so  interesting  to 
her  husband,  that  he  was  determined  to  inquire  farther 
into  the  confession  made  at  Carlisle,  and  the  fate  of  that 
poor  innocent,  and  that,  as  he  had  been  in  some  degree 
successful,  she  had,  by  the  most  earnest  entreaties,  ex- 
torted rather  than  obtained  his  permission,  under  promise 
of  observing  the  most  strict  incognito,  to  spend  a  week  or 
two  with  her  sister,  or  in  her  neighborhood,  while  he  was 
prosecuting  researches,  to  which  (though  it  appeared  to 
her  very  vainly)  he  seemed  to  attach  some  hopes  of 
success. 

There  was  a  postscript,  desiring  that  Jeanie  would 
trust  to  Lady  S.  the  management  of  their  intercourse,  and 
be  content  with  assenting  to  what  she  should  propose. 
After  reading  and  again  reading  the  letter,  Mrs.  Butler 
hurried  downstairs,  divided  betwixt  the  fear  of  betraying 
her  secret,  and  the  desire  to  throw  herself  upon  her 
sister's  neck.  Effie  received  her  with  a  glance  at  once 
aifectionate  and  cautionary,  and  immediately  proceeded  to 
speak. 

"I   have  been   telling  Mr.   ,   Captain   ,   this 

gentleman,  Mrs.  Butler,  that  if  you  could  accommodate 
me  with  an  apartment  in  your  house,  and  a  place  for 
Ellis  to  sleep,  and  for  the  two  men,  it  would  suit  me 
better  than  the  Lodge,  which  his  Grace  has  so  kindly 
placed  at  my  disposal.  I  am  advised  I  should  reside  as 
near  where  the  goats  feed  as  possible." 

''I  have  pecn  assuring  my  Leddy,  ^Mrs.  Putler,"  said 
Duncan,  "that  though  it  could  not  discommode  you  to 
receive  any  of  his  Grace's  visitors  or  mine,  yet  she  had 
mooch  petter  stay  at  the  Lodge;  and  for  the  gaits,  the 
creatures  can  be  fetched  there,  in  respect  it  is  mair  fitting 
thev  suld  wait  upon  her  Leddyship,  than  she  upon  the  like 
of  them." 

"By  no  means  derange  the  goats  for  me,"  said  Lady 
Staunton;  "I  am  certain  the  milk  must  be  much  better 
here."  And  this  she  said  with  languid  negligence,  as  one 
whose  slightest  intimation  of  humor  is  to  bear  down  all 
argument. 

Mrs.   Ihitler  I'.astened  to  intimate,  that   licr  house,  such 


562  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

as  it  was,  was  heartily  at  the  disposal  of  Lady  Staunton; 
but  the  Captain  continued  to  remonstrate. 

"The  Duke,"  he  said,  "had  written " 

"I  will  settle  all  that  with  his  Grace- 


"And  there  were  the  things  had  been  sent  down  frae 
Glasco " 

"Anything  necessary  might  be  sent  over  to  the  Parson- 
age— She  would  beg  the  favor  of  Mrs.  Butler  to  show  her 
an  apartment,  and  of  the  Captain  to  have  her  trunks,  etc., 
sent  over  from  Roseneath." 

So  she  courtesied  oiT  poor  Duncan,  who  departed,  say- 
ing in  his  secret  soul,  "Cot  tamn  her  English  impudence! 
— she  takes  possession  of  the  minister's  house  as  an  it 
were  her  ain — and  speaks  to  shentlemens  as  if  they  were 
pounden  servants,  an  pe  tamn'd  to  her! — And  there's  the 
deer  that  was  shot  too — but  we  will  send  it  ower  to  the 
Manse,  whilk  will  pe  put  civil,  seeing  I  hae  prought 
worthy  Mrs.  Putler  sic  a  fliskmahoy." — And  with  these 
kind  intentions,  he  went  to  the  shore  to  give  his  orders 
accordingly. 

In  the  meantime,  the  meeting  of  the  sisters  was  as  affec- 
tionate as  it  was  extraordinary,  and  each  evinced  her  feel- 
ings in  the  way  proper  to  her  character.  Jeanie  was  so 
much  overcome  by  wonder,  and  even  by  awe,  that  her 
feelings  were  deep,  stunning,  and  almost  overpowering. 
Effie,  on  the  other  hand,  wept,  laughed,  sobbed,  screamed, 
and  clapped  her  hands  for  joy,  all  in  the  space  of  five 
minutes,  giving  way  at  once,  and  without  reserve,  to  a 
natural  excessive  vivacity  of  temper,  which  no  one,  how- 
ever, knew  better  how  to  restrain  under  the  rules  of  arti- 
ficial breeding. 

After  an  hour  had  passed  like  a  moment  in  their  ex- 
pressions of  mutual  affection.  Lady  Staunton  observed 
the  Captain  walking  with  impatient  steps  below  the  win- 
dow. "That  tiresome  Highland  fool  has  returned  upon 
our  hands,"  she  said.  "I  will  pray  him  to  grace  us  with 
his  absence." 

"Hout  no!  hout  no!"  said  Mrs.  Butler,  in  a  tone  of 
entreaty;  "ye  mauna  affront  the  Captain." 

"Affront?"  said  Lady  Staunton;  "nobody  is  ever  af- 
fronted at  what  I  do  or  say,  my  dear.  However,  I  will 
endure  him,  since  you  think  it  proper." 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  563 

The  Captain  was  accordingrly  graciously  requested  by 
Lady  Staunton  to  remain  during?  dinner.  During  this 
visit  his  studious  and  punctilious  complaisance  toward  the 
lady  of  rank  was  happily  contrasted  by  the  cavalier  air 
of  civil  familiarity  in  which  she  indulged  toward  the 
minister's  wife. 

"I  have  not  been  able  to  persuade  Mrs  Butler,"  said 
Lady  Staunton  to  the  Captain,  during  the  interval  when 
Jeanie  had  left  the  parlor,  "to  let  me  talk  of  making  any 
recompense  for  storming  her  house,  and  garrisoning  it  in 
the   way  I   have   done." 

"Doubtless,  matam,"  said  the  Captain,  "it  wad  ill  pe- 
come  Mrs.  Putler,  wha  is  a  very  decent  pody,  to  make  any 
such  sharge  to  a  lady  who  comes  from  my  house,  or  his 
Grace's,  which  is  the  same  thing. — And,  speaking  of  gar- 
risons, in  the  year  forty-five,  I  was  poot  with  a  garrison  of 
twenty  of  my  lads  in  the  house  of  Inver-Garry,  whilk  had 
near  been  unhappily,  for " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir — But  I  wish  I  could  think  of 
some  way  of  indemnifying  this  good  lady." 

"Oh,  no  need  of  intemnifying  at  all — no  trouble  for 
her,  nothing  at  all — So  peing  in  the  house  of  Inver-Garry, 
and  the  people  about  it  being  uncanny,  I  doubted  the 
warst.  and " 

"Do  you  happen  to  know,  sir,"  said  Lady  Staunton,  "if 
any  of  these  two  lads,  these  young  Butlers,  I  mean,  show 
any  turn  for  the  army?" 

"Could  not  say,  indeed,  my  leddy,"  replied  Knockdun- 
der — "So,  I  knowing  the  people  to  pe  unchancy,  and  not 
to  lippen  to,  and  hearing  a  pibroch  in  the  wood,  I  pegan 
to  pid  my  lads  look  to  their  flints,  and  then " 

"For,"  said  Lady  Staunton,  with  the  most  ruthless  dis- 
regard to  the  narrative  which  she  mangled  by  these  inter- 
ruptions, "if  that  should  be  the  case,  it  should  cost  Sir 
George  but  the  asking  a  pair  of  colors  for  one  of  them 
at  the  War  Office,  since  we  have  always  supported  govern- 
ment, and  never  had  occasion  to  trouble  ministers." 

"And  if  you  please,  my  leddy,"  said  Duncan,  who  be- 
gan to  find  some  savor  in  this  proposal,  "as  I  hae  a  braw 
weel-grown  lad  of  a  nevoy,  ca'd  Duncan  ^racCiilligan.  that 
is  as  pig  as  paith  the  Putler  pairns  puttcn  thegither,  Sir 


564  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

George  could  ask  a  pair  for  him  at  the  same  time,  and  it 
wad  pe  put  ae  asking  for  a'." 

Lady  Staunton  only  answered  this  hint  with  a  well- 
bred  stare,  which  gave  no  sort  of  encouragement. 

Jeanie,  who  now  returned,  was  lost  in  amazement  at 
the  wonderful  difference  betwixt  the  helpless  and  despair- 
ing girl,  whom  she  had  seen  stretched  on  a  flock-bed  in  a 
dungeon,  expecting  a  violent  and  disgraceful  death,  and 
last  as  a  forlorn  exile  upon  the  midnight  beach,  with  the 
elegant,  well-bred,  beautiful  woman  before  her.  The 
features,  now  that  her  sister's  veil  was  laid  aside,  did  not 
appear  so  extremely  ^different,  as  the  whole  manner,  ex- 
pression, look,  and  bearing.  In  outside  show,  Lady  Staun- 
ton seemed  completely  a  creature  too  soft  and  fair  for 
sorrow  to  have  touched ;  so  much  accustomed  to  have  all 
her  whims  complied  with  by  those  around  her,  that  she 
seemed  to  expect  she  should  even  be  saved  the  trouble  of 
forming  them;  and  so  totally  unacquainted  with  contra- 
diction, that  she  did  not  even  use  the  tone  of  self-will, 
since  to  breathe  a  wish  was  to  have  it  fulfilled.  She 
made  no  ceremony  of  ridding  herself  of  Duncan  as  soon 
as  the  evening  approached;  but  complimented  him  out  of 
the  house  under  pretext  of  fatigue,  with  the  utmost 
nonchalance. 

When  they  were  alone,  her  sister  could  not  help  ex- 
pressing her  wonder  at  the  self-possession  with  which 
Lady  Staunton  sustained  her  part. 

"I  dare  say  you  are  surprised  at  it,"  said  Lady  Staunton 
composedly;  "for  you,  my  dear  Jeanie,  have  been  truth 
itself  from  your  cradle  upward;  but  you  must  remember 
that  I  am  a  liar  of  fifteen  years'  standing,  and  therefore 
must  by  this  time  be  used  to  my  character." 

In  fact,  during  the  feverish  tumult  of  feelings  excited 
during  the  two  or  three  first  days,  Mrs.  Butler  thought  her 
sister's  manner  was  completely  contradictory  of  the  des- 
ponding tone  which  pervaded  her  correspondence.  She 
was  moved  to  tears,  indeed,  by  the  sight  of  her  father's 
grave,  marked  by  a  modest  stone,  recording  his  piety 
and  integrity;  but  lighter  impressions  and  associations 
had  also  power  over  her.  She  amused  herself  with  visiting 
the  dairy,  in  which  she  had  so  long  been  assistant,  and 
was  so  near  discovering  herself  to  May  Hettly,  by  betray- 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  565 

ing  her  acquaintance  with  the  celebrated  receipt  for  Dun- 
lop  cheese,  that  she  compared  herself  to  Bodreddin  Has- 
san, whom  the  vizier,  his  father-in-law,  discovered  by  his 
superlative  skill  in  composing  cream-tarts  with  pepper  in 
them.  But  when  the  novelty  of  such  avocations  ceased  to 
■\muse  her,  she  showed  to  her  sister  but  too  plainly,  that 
the  gaudy  coloring  with  which  she  veiled  her  unhappi- 
tiess  afforded  as  little  real  comfort,  as  the  gay  uniform  of 
the  soldier  when  it  is  drawn  over  his  mortal  wound.  There 
ivere  moods  and  moments,  in  which  her  despondence 
[seemed  to  exceed  even  that  which  she  herself  had  de- 
scribed in  her  letters,  and  which  too  well  convinced  Mrs. 
Butler  how  little  her  sister's  lot,  which  in  appearance 
was  so  brilliant,  was  in  reality  to  be  envied. 

There    was    one    source,    however,    from    which    Lady 
•^taunton  derived     a  pure  degree  of  pleasure.     Gifted  in 

very  particular  with  a  higher  degree  of  imagination  than 
that  of  her  sister,  she  was  an  admirer  of  the  beauties  of 

lature,  a  taste  which  compensates  many  evils  to  those  who 
lappen   to  enjoy  it.     Here  her  character  of  a  fine  lady 

topped  short,  where  she  ought  to  have 

ScffaniM  at  ilk  cl<'U<:li,  and  screecli'd  at  ilka  how, 
As  loud  as  she  had  scon  the  worrie-cow. 

In  the  contrary,  with  the  two  boys  for  her  guides,  she 
indertook  long  and  fatiguing  walks  among  the  neighbor- 
ng  mountains  to  visit  glens,  lakes,  waterfalls,  or  what- 
ver  scenes  of  natural  wonder  or  beauty  lay  concealed 
imong  their  recesses.  It  is  Wordsworth,  I  think,  who, 
alkinir  of  an  old  man  under  difficulties,  remarks,  with  a 
lingular  attention   to   nature — 

-whether  it  was  care  that  spurred  him, 


riod  (»rily  kiiow-^:   hut   to  the  very  hist. 
He  had  the  liffhtest  foot  in  Ennerdale. 

In  the  same  manner,  languid,  listless,  and  unhappy,  within 
loors,  at  times  even  indicating  sonictliing  which  aj)- 
iroached  near  to  cont(Mni)t  of  th<*  homcdy  ac'commodations 
)f  her  sister's  house,  although  she  instantly  endeavored 
ly  a  thousand  kindnesses,  to  atone  for  such  ebullitions  of 
spleen.  Lady  Staunton  appeared  to  feel  interest  and  energy 


f 

566  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  V^l 

while  in  the  open  air,  and  traversing  the  mountain  land-  f 
scapes  in  society  with  the  two  boys,  whose  ears  she  de-  ii 
lighted  with  stories  of  what  she  had  seen  in  other  coun-  ' 
tries,  and  what  she  had  to  show  them  at  Willingham  ;] 
Manor.  And  they,  on  the  other  hand,  exerted  themselves  ,i 
in  doing  the  honors  of  Dumbartonshire  to  the  lady  who  J 
seemed  so  kind,  insomuch  that  there  was  scarce  a  glen  inil 
the  neighboring  hills  to  which  they  did  not  introduce  V 
her. 

Upon  one  of  these  excursions,  while  Reuben  was  other- 
wise  employed,   David    alone    acted   as   Lady    Staunton's 
guide,  and  promised  to  show  her  a  cascade  in  the  hills 
grander   and  higher  than   any  they  had  yet  visited.     I 
was  a  walk  of  five  long  miles,   and  over  rough  ground 
varied,   however,    and   cheered,    by   mountain    views,    andl 
peeps  now  of  the  firth  and  its  islands,  now  of  distant  lakes^, 
now  of  rocks  and  precipices.     The  scene  itself,  too,  when' 
thej^  reached  it,  amply  rewarded  the  labor  of  the  walk.     A 
single  shoot  carried  a  considerable  stream  over  the  face 
of  a  black  rock,  which  contrasted  strongly  in  color  with 
the  white  foam  of  the  cascade,  and,  at  the  depth  of  about 
twenty   feet,    another   rock    intercepted   the   view   of   the 
bottom   of   the   fall.      The    water,    wheeling   out   far   be- 
neath,  swept   round   the  crag,   which  thus   bounded  their  r 
view,  and  tumbled  down  the  rocky  glen  in  a  torrent  of:] 
foam.     Those  who  love  nature  always  desire  to  penetrate 
into  its  utmost  recesses,  and  Lady  Staunton  asked  Davie 
whether  there  was  not  some  mode  of  gaining  a  view  oi 
the  abyss  at  the  foot  of  the  fall.    He  said  that  he  knew  2 
station  on  a  shelf  on  the  farther  side  of  the  intercepting  i 
rock,    from   which    the   whole   waterfall   was   visible,    bui  | 
that  the  road  to  it  was  steep  and  slippery  and  dangerous 
Bent,   however,   on   gratifying   her  curiosity,   she   desirec 
him  to  lead  the  w^ay;  and  accordingly  he  did  so  over  crag^ 
and  stone,  anxiously  pointing  out  to  her  the  resting-places 
where   she   ought   to   step,   for   their   mode   of   advancing 
soon  ceased  to  be  walking,  and  became  scrambling. 

In  this  manner,  clinging  like  sea-birds  to  the  face  oi 
the  rock,  they  were  enabled  at  length  to  turn  round  it 
and  came  full  in  front  of  the  fall,  which  here  had  a  mos' 
tremendous  aspect,  boiling,  roaring,  and  thundering  wit! 
unceasing  din,  into  a  black  cauldron,  a  hundred  feet  a' 


THE    IIP:ART    of    MID-LOTHIAN  567 

least  below  them,  which  resembled  the  crater  of  a  volcano. 
The  noise,  the  dashing  of  the  waters,  which  gave  an  un- 
steady appearance  to  all  around  them,  the  trembling  even 
of  the  huge  crag  on  which  they  stood,  the  precariousness 
of  their  footing,  for  there  was  scarce  room  for  them  to 
stand  on  the  shelf  of  rock  which  they  had  thus  attained, 
had  so  powerful  an  effect  on  the  senses  and  imagination 
of  Lady  Staunton,  that  she  called  out  to  David  she  was 
falling,  and  would  in  fact  have  dropped  from  the  crag 
had  he  not  caught  hold  of  her.  The  boy  was  bold  and 
stout  of  his  age — still  he  was  but  fourteen  years  old,  and 
as  his  assistance  gave  no  confidence  to  Lady  wStaunton, 
she  felt  her  situation  become  really  perilous.  The  chance 
was,  that,  in  the  appalling  novelty  of  the  circumstances, 
he  might  have  caught  the  infection  of  her  panic,  in  which 
case  it  is  likely  that  both  must  have  perished.  She  now 
screamed  with  terror,  though  without  hope  of  calling  any 
one  to  her  assistance.  To  her  amazement,  the  scream  was 
answered  by  a  whistle  from  above,  of  a  tone  so  clear  and 
shrill,  that  it  was  heard  even  amid  the  noise  of  the 
waterfall. 

In  this  moment  of  terror  and  perplexity,  a  human  face, 
blaf'k.  and  having  grizzled  hair  hanging  down  over  the 
forehead  and  cheeks,  and  mixing  with  mustaches  and  a 
beard  of  the  same  color,  and  as  much  matted  and  tangled, 
looked  down  on  them  from  a  broken  part  of  the  rock 
above. 

"It  is  The  Enemy!"  said  the  boy,  who  had  very  nearly 
become  incapable  of  supporting  Lady  Staunton. 

"No,  no,''  she  exclaimed,  inaccessible  to  supernatural 
terrors,  and  restored  to  the  presence  of  mind  of  which  she 
had  ber-n  dei)rived  by  the  danger  of  her  situation,  "it  is  a 
man — For   (Jod's   sake,    my    friend,   help   us!" 

The  face  glared  at  them,  but  made  no  answer;  in  a 
second  or  two  afterward,  another,  that  of  a  young  lad, 
appeared  bfside  the  first,  equally  swart  and  begrimed,  but 
having  tangled  black  hair,  descending  in  elf  locks,  which 
gave  an  air  of  wildness  and  ferocity  to  the  whole  ex- 
pression of  the  countenance.  Lady  Staunton  repeated  her 
entreaties,  clinging  to  the  rock  with  more  energy,  as  she 
found  that,  from  the  superstitious  terror  of  her  guide,  he 
became   incapable   of   supporting   her.      Her   words    were 


568  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

probably  drowned  in  the  roar  of, the  falling  stream,  for, 
though  she  observed  the  lips  of  the  younger  being  whom 
she  supplicated  move  as  he  spoke  in  reply,  not  a  word 
reached  her  ear. 

A  moment  afterward  it  appeared  he  had  not  mistaken 
the  nature  of  her  supplication,  which,  indeed,  was  easy  to 
be  understood  from  her  situation  and  gestures.  The 
younger  apparition  disappeared,  and  immediately  after 
lowered  a  ladder  of  twisted  osiers,  about  eight  feet  in 
length,  and  made  signs  to  David  to  hold  it  fast  while  the 
lady  ascended.  Despair  gives  courage,  and  finding  herself 
in  this  fearful  predicament,  Lady  Staunton  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  risk  the  ascent  by  the  precarious  means  which 
this  accommodation  afforded ;  and,  carefully  assisted  by 
the  person  who  had  thus  providentially  come  to  her  aid, 
she  reached  the  summit  in  safety.  She  did  not,  however, 
even  look  around  her  until  she  saw  her  nephew  lightly 
and  actively  follow  her  example,  although  there  was  now 
no  one  to  hold  the  ladder  fast.  When  she  saw  him  safe 
she  looked  round,  and  could  not  help  shuddering  at  the 
place  and  company  in  which  she  found  herself. 

They  were  on  a  sort  of  platform  of  rock,  surrounded  on 
every  side  by  precipices,  or  overhanging  cliffs,  and  which 
it  would  have  been  scarce  possible  for  any  research  to 
have  discovered,  as  it  did  not  seem  to  be  commanded 
by  any  accessible  position.  It  was  partly  covered  by  a 
huge  fragment  of  stone,  which,  having  fallen  from  the 
cliffs  above,  had  been  intercepted  by  others  in  its  descent, 
and  jammed  so  as  to  serve  for  a  sloping  roof  to  the  farther 
part  of  the  broad  shelf  or  platform  on  which  they  stood. 
A  quantity  of  withered  moss  and  leaves,  strewed  beneath 
this  rude  and  wretched  shelter,  showed  the  lairs, — they 
could  not  be  termed  the  beds, — of  those  who  dwelt  in  this 
eyry,  for  it  deserved  no  other  name.  Of  these,  two  were 
before  Lady  Staunton.  One,  the  same  who  had  afforded 
such  timely  assistance,  stood  upright  before  them,  a  tall, 
lathy  young  savage;  his  dress  a  tattered  plaid  and  phila- 
beg,  no  shoes,  no  stockings,  no  hat  or  bonnet,  the  place 
of  the  last  being  supplied  by  his  hair,  twisted  and  matted 
like  the  glihhe  of  the  ancient  wild  Irish,  and,  like  theirs, 
forming  a  natural  thick-set,  stout  enough  to  bear  off  the 
cut  of  a  sword.     Yet  the  eyes  of  the  lad  were  keen  and 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  569 

sparkling:;  his  gesture  free  and  noble,  like  that  of  all 
sav:i<:os.  He  took  little  notice  of  David  Butler,  but  gazed 
with  wonder  on  Lady  Staunton,  as  a  being  different  prob- 
ably in  dre^s,  and  superior  in  beauty,  to  anything  he  had 
ever  beheld.  The  old  man,  whose  face  they  had  first  seen, 
remained  recumbent  in  the  same  posture  as  when  he  had 
first  looked  down  on  them,  only  his  face  was  turned  toward 
them  as  he  lay  and  looked  up  with  a  lazy  and  listless 
apathy,  which  belied  the  general  expression  of  his  dark 
and  rugged  features.  He  seemed  a  very  tall  man,  but 
was  scarce  better  clad  than  the  younger.  He  had  on  a 
loose  Lowland  greatcoat,  and  ragged  tartan  trews  or 
pantaloons. 

All  around  looked  singularly  wild  and  unpropitious. 
Beneath  the  brow  of  the  incumbent  rock  was  a  charcoal 
fire,  on  which  there  was  a  still  working,  with  bellows, 
pincers,  hammers,  a  movable  anvil,  and  other  smith's 
tools ;  three  guns,  with  two  or  three  sacks  and  barrels, 
were  disposed  against  the  wall  of  rock,  under  shelter  of 
the  superincumbent  crag;  a  dirk  and  two  swords,  and  a 
Lochaber-ax,  lay  scattered  around  the  fire,  of  which 
the  red  glare  cast  a  ruddy  tinge  on  the  precipitous  foam 
and  mist  of  the  cascade.  The  lad,  when  he  had  satisfied 
his  curiosity  with  staring  at  Lady  Staunton,  fetched  an 
earthen  jar  and  a  horn  cup,  into  which  he  poured  some 
spirits,  apparently  hot  from  the  still,  and  offered  them 
successively  to  the  lady  and  to  the  boy.  Both  declined, 
and  the  young  savage  quaffed  off  the  draught,  which 
could  not  amount  to  less  than  three  ordinary  ghisses.  He 
then  fetched  another  ladder  from  the  corner  of  the  tavern, 
if  it  could  be  termed  so,  adjusted  it  against  the  transverse 
rock,  which  served  as  a  roof,  and  made  signs  for  the 
lady  to  ascend  it,  while  he  held  it  fast  below.  She  did 
so,  and  found  herself  on  the  top  of  a  broad  rock,  near  the 
brink  of  the  chasm  into  which  the  brook  precipitates 
itself.  She  could  see  the  crest  of  the  torrent  flung  loose 
down  the  rock,  like  the  mane  of  a  wild  hors(\  but  without 
having  any  view  of  the  lower  platform  from  which  she 
had  ascended. 

David  was  not  suffered  to  mount  so  easily;  the  lad, 
from  sport  or  love  of  mischief,  shook  the  ladder  a  good 
deal   as  he   ascended,   and   seemed   to  enjoy  the  terror  (  f 


570  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

young  Butler,  so  that,  when  they  had  both  come  up,  they 
looked  on  each  other  with  no  friendly  eyes.  Neither, 
however,  spoke.  The  young  caird,  or  tinker,  or  gipsy, 
with  a  good  deal  of  attention,  assisted  Lady  Staunton  up 
a  very  perilous  ascent  which  she  had  still  to  encounter, 
and  they  were  followed  by  David  Butler,  until  all  three 
stood  clear  of  the  ravine  on  the  side  of  a  mountain, 
whose  sides  were  covered  with  heather  and  sheets  of 
loose  shingle.  So  narrow  was  the  chasm  out  of  which 
they  ascended,  that,  unless  when  they  were  on  the  very 
verge,  the  eye  passed  to  the  other  side  without  perceiving 
the  existence  of  a  rent  so  fearful,  and  nothing  was  seen 
of  the  cataract,  though  its  deep  hoarse  voice  was  still 
heard. 

Lady  Staunton,  freed  from  the  danger  of  rock  and 
river,  had  now  a  new  subject  of  anxiety.  Her  two  guides 
confronted  each  other  with  angry  countenances;  for 
David,  though  younger  by  two  years  at  least,  and  much 
shorter,   was  a  stout,   well-set,   and  very  bold   boy. 

"You  are  the  black-coat's  son  of  Knocktarlitie,"  said 
the  young  caird;  "If  you  come  here  again,  I'll  pitch  you 
down  the  linn  like  a  football." 

"Ay,  lad,  ye  are  very  short  to  be  sae  lang,"  retorted 
young  Butler  undauntedly,  and  measuring  his  opponent's 
height  with  an  undismayed  eye;  "I  am  thinking  you  are 
a  gillie  of  Black  Donacha;  if  you  come  down  the  glen, 
we'll  shoot  you  like  a  wild  buck." 

"You  may  tell  your  father,"  said  the  lad,  "that  the  leaf 
on  the  timber  is  the  last  he  shall  see — we  will  hae  amends 
for  the  mischief  he  has  done  to  us." 

"I  hope  he  will  live  to  see  mony  simmers,  and  do  ye 
muckle  mair,"  answered  David. 

More  might  have  passed,  but  Lady  Staunton  stepped 
between  them  with  her  purse  in  her  hand,  and  taking  out 
a  guinea,  of  which  it  contained  several,  visible  through 
the  net-work,  as  well  as  some  silver  in  the  opposite  end, 
offered  it  to  the  caird. 

"The  white  siller,  lady — the  white  siller,"  said  the 
young  savage,  to  whom  the  value  of  gold  was  probably 
unknown. 

Lady  Staunton  poured  what  silver  she  had  into  his 
hand,  and  the  juvenile  savage  snatched  it  greedily,  and 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 


Oi  , 


made  a  sort  of  half   inclination  of  acknowledgment  and 
adieu. 

"Let  us  make  haste  now.  Lady  Staunton,"  said  David, 
"for  there  will  be  little  peace  with  them  since  they  hae 
seen  your  purse." 

They  hurried  on  as  fast  as  they  could;  but  they  had 
not  descended  the  hill  a  hundred  yards  or  two  before  they 
heard  a  halloo  behind  them,  and  looking-  back,  saw  both 
the  old  man  and  the  young  one  pursuing  them  with  great 
speed,  the  former  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder.  Very 
fortunately,  at  this  moment  a  sportsman,  a  gamekeeper 
of  the  Duke,  who  was  engaged  in  stalking  deer,  appeared 
on  the  face  of  the  hill.  The  bandits  stopped  on  seeing 
him,  and  Lady  Staunton  hastened  to  put  herself  under  his 
protection.  He  readily  gave  them  his  escort  home,  and  it 
required  his  athletic  form  and  loaded  rifle  to  restore  to 
the  lady  her  usual  confidence  and  courage. 

Donald  listened  with  much  gravity  to  the  account  of 
their  adventure;  and  answered  with  great  composure  to 
David's  repeated  inquiries,  whether  he  could  have  sus- 
pected that  the  cairds  had  been  lurking  there, — 'Tnteed, 
Master  Tavie,  I  might  hae  had  some  guess  that  they  were 
there,  or  thereabout,  though  maybe  I  had  nane.  But  I 
am  aften  on  the  hill;  and  they  are  like  wasps — they  stang 
only  them  that  fashes  them ;  sae,  for  my  part,  I  make  a 
point  not  to  see  them,  unless  I  were  ordered  out  on  the 
pre<^'eese  errand  by  MacCallummore  or  Knockdunder, 
whilk  is  a  clean  different  case." 

They  reached  the  Manse  late;  and  Lady  Staunton,  who 
had  suffered  much  both  from  fright  and  fatigue,  never 
again  i)erinitted  her  love  of  the  j)icturesque  to  carry  her 
so  far  among  the  mountains  without  a  stronger  escort 
than  David,  though  she  acknowledged  he  had  won  the 
stand  of  colors  by  the  intrepidity  he  had  displayed,  .so 
soon  as  assured  he  had  to  do  with  an  earthly  antagonist. 
"I  couldna  maybe  hae  made  muckle  o'  a  bargain  wi'  yon 
lang  callant,"  said  David,  when  thus  complimented  on  his 
valor;  "but  when  ye  deal  wi'  thae  folk,  it's  tyne  heart 
tyne  a'." 


572  THE    HEART    OE    MID-LOTHIAN 


CHAPTER   LI 

What  see  you  there, 

That  hath  so  cowarded  and  chased  your  blood 
Out   of   appearance? 

Henry  the  Fifth. 

We  are  under  the  necessity  of  returning  to  Edinburgh, 
where  the  General  Assembly  was  now  sitting.  It  is  well 
known,  that  some  Scottish  nobleman  is  usually  deputed 
as  High  Commissioner,  to  represent  the  person  of  the 
King  in  this  convocation;  that  he  has  allowances  for  the 
purpose  of  maintaining  a  certain  outward  show  and  solem- 
nity, and  supporting  the  hospitality  of  the  representatiA^e 
of  Majesty.  Whoever  is  distinguished  by  rank,  or  office, 
in  or  near  the  capital,  usually  attend  the  morning  levees 
of  the  Lord  Commissioner,  and  walk  with  him  in  pro- 
cession to  the  place  where  the   Assembly  meets. 

The  nobleman  who  held  this  office  chanced  to  be  particu- 
larly connected  with  Sir  George  Staunton,  and  it  was  in 
his  train  that  he  ventured  to  tread  the  High  Street  of 
Edinburgh  for  the  first  time  since  the  fatal  night  of 
Porteous's  execution.  Walking  at  the  right  hand  of  the 
representative  of  Sovereignty,  covered  with  lace  and  em- 
broidery, and  with  all  the  paraphernalia  of  wealth  and 
rank,  the  handsome  though  wasted  form  of  the  English 
stranger  attracted  all  eyes.  Who  could  have  recognized 
in  a  form  so  aristocratic  the  plebeian  convict,  that,  dis- 
guised in  the  rags  of  Madge  Wildfire,  had  led  the  formid- 
able rioters  to  their  destined  revenge?  There  was  no  possi- 
bility that  this  could  happen,  even  if  any  of  his  ancient 
acquaintances,  a  race  of  men  whose  lives  are  so  brief,  had 
happened  to  survive  the  span  commonly  allotted  to  evil- 
doers. Besides,  the  whole  aftair  had  long  fallen  asleep, 
with  the  angry  passions  in  which  it  originated.  Nothing 
is  more  certain  than  that  persons  known  to  have  had  a 
share  in  that  formidable  riot,  and  to  have  fled  from  Scot- 
land on  that  account,  had  made  money  abroad,  returned 
to  enjoy  it  in  their  native  country,  and  lived  and  died 
undisturbed  by  the  law."'^     The  forbearance  of  the  magis- 

*  See    Arnot's   Criinin?.!   T-iT'.'-^,,    4to    ed.    235. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  573 

trate  was  in  these  instances  wise,  certainly,  and  just;  for 
what  g"ood  impression  could  be  made  on  the  public  mind 
by  punishment,  when  the  memory  of  the  offence  was  ob- 
literated, and  all  that  was  remembered  was  the  recent  in- 
offensive, or  perhaps  exemplary,  conduct  of  the  offender? 

Sir  George  Staunton  might,  therefore,  tread  the  scene 
of  his  former  audacious  exploits,  free  from  the  apprehen- 
sion of  the  law,  or  even  of  discovery  or  suspicion.  But 
with  what  feelings  his  heart  that  day  throbbed,  must  be 
left  to  those  of  the  reader  to  imagine.  It  was  an  object 
of  no  common  interest  which  had  brought  him  to  en- 
counter so  many  painful  remembrances. 

In  consequence  of  Jeanie's  letter  to  Lady  Staunton, 
transmitting  the  confession,  he  had  visited  the  town  of 
Carlisle,  and  had  found  Archdeacon  Fleming  still  alive, 
by  whom  that  confession  had  been  received.  This  reverend 
gentleman,  whose  character  stood  deservedly  very  high, 
he  so  far  admitted  into  his  confidence,  as  to  own  himself 
the  father  of  the  unfortunate  infant  which  had  been 
spirited  away  by  Madge  Wildfire,  representing  the  ir 
trigue  as  a  matter  of  juvenile  extravagance  on  his  own 
part,  for  which  he  was  now  anxious  to  atone,  by  tracing, 
if  possible,  what  had  become  of  the  child.  After  some 
recollection  of  the  circumstances,  the  clergj^man  was  able 
to  call  to  memory,  that  the  unhappy  woman  had  writ- 
ten a  letter  to  George  Staunton,  Esq.,  younger,  Rectory, 
Willingham,  by  Grantham ;  that  he  had  forwarded  it  to 
the  address  accordingly,  and  that  it  had  been  returned, 
with  a  note  from  the  Reverend  Mr.  Staunton,  Rect-or  of 
Willingham,  saying,  he  knew  no  such  person  as  him  to 
whom  the  letter  was  addressed.  As  this  had  happened  just 
at  thf  time  when  George  had,  for  the  last  time,  absconded 
from  his  father's  house  to  carrj'  off  Effie.  he  was  at  no  loss 
to  account  for  the  cause  of  the  resentment,  under  the 
influence  of  which  his  father  had  disowned  him.  This 
was  another  instance  in  which  his  ungovernable  temper 
had  ocf-asionod  his  misfortune:  had  he  r<'inainod  at  Wil- 
lingham but  a  few  days  longer,  he  would  have  received 
Margaret  Murdockson's  letter,  in  which  was  exactly  de- 
soribod  the  person  and  haunts  of  the  woman.  Annaple 
Bailzou,  to  whom  she  harl  parted  with  the  infant.  It 
appeared  that  Meg  Murdockson  IkkI  }>e(>n  induced  to  make 


574  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

this  confession,  less  from  any  feelings  of  contrition,  than 
from  the  desire  of  obtaining,  through  George  Staunton 
or  his  father's  means,  protection  and  support  for  her 
daughter  Madge.  Her  letter  to  George  Staunton  said, 
"That  while  the  writer  lived,  her  daughter  would  have 
needed  nought  from  anybody,  and  that  she  would  never 
have  meddled  in  these  atl'airs,  except  to  pay  back  the  ill 
that  George  had  done  to  her  and  hers.  But  she  was  to 
die,  and  her  daughter  would  be  destitute,  and  without 
reason  to  guide  her.  She  had  lived  in  the  world  long 
enough  to  know  that  people  did  nothing  for  nothing; — 
so  she  had  told  George  Staunton  all  ho  could  wish  to 
know  about  his  wean,  in  hopes  he  would  not  see  the 
demented  young  creature  he  had  ruined  perish  for  want. 
As  for  her  motives  for  not  telling  them  sooner,  sh?  had 
a  long  account  to  reckon  for  in  the  next  world,  and  she 
would  reckon  for  that  too." 

The  clergyman  said,  that  Meg  had  died  in  the  same 
desperate  state  of  mind,  occasionally  expressing  some 
regret  about  the  child  which  was  lost,  but  oftener  sorrow 
that  the  mother  had  not  been  hanged — her  mind  at  once 
a  chaos  of  guilt,  rage,  and  apprehension  for  her  daughter's 
future  safety;  that  instinctive  feeling  of  parental  anxiety 
which  she  had  in  common  with  the  she-wolf  and  lioness, 
being  the  last  shade  of  kindly  aifection  that  occupied  a 
breast   equallj^  savage. 

The  melancholy  catastrophe  of  Madge  Wildfire  was  occa- 
sioned by  her  taking  the  confusion  of  her  mother's  execu- 
tion, as  affording  an  opportunity  of  leaving  the  workhouse 
to  which  the  clergyman  had  sent  her,  and  presenting  her- 
self to  the  mob  in  their  fury,  to  perish  in  the  way  we  have 
already  seen.  When  Dr.  Fleming  found  the  convict's 
letter  was  returned  from  Lincolnshire,  he  wrote  to  a  friend 
in  Edinburgh,  to  inquire  into  the  fate  of  the  unfortunate 
girl  whose  child  had  been  stolen,  and  was  informed  by  his 
correspondent,  that  she  had  been  pardoned,  and  that,  with 
all  her  family,  she  had  retired  to  some  distant  part  of 
Scotland,  or  left  the  kingdom  entirely.  And  here  the 
matter  rested,  until,  at  Sir  George  Staunton's  application, 
the  clergyman  looked  out,  and  produced  Margaret  Mur- 
dockson's  returned  letter,  and  the  other  memoranda  which 
he  had  kept  concerning  the  affair. 


THE    HEART    OF    ^IID-LOTHIAX  575 

Whatever  mifjht  bo  Sir  (Jeorgre  Staunton's  feelings  in 
ripping  up  this  misernblo  history,  and  listening  to  the 
tragical  fate  of  the  unhappy  girl  whom  he  had  ruined,  he 
had  so  much  of  his  ancient  wilfulness  of  disposition  left, 
as  to  shut  his  eyes  on  everything,  save  the  prospect  which 
seemed  to  open  itself  of  recovering  his  son.  It  was  true, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  produce  him,  without  telling  much 
more  of  the  history  of  his  birth,  and  the  misfortunes  of 
his  parents,  than  it  was  prudent  to  make  known.  But  let 
him  once  be  found,  and,  being  found,  let  him  but  prove 
worthy  of  his  father's  protection,  and  many  ways  might 
be  fallen  upon  to  avoid  such  risk.  Sir  George  Staunton 
was  at  liberty  to  adopt  him  for  his  heir,  if  he  pleased, 
without  communicating  the  secret  of  his  birth;  or  an 
Act  of  Parliament  might  be  obtained,  declaring  him 
legitimate,  and  allowing  him  the  name  and  ai;ms  of  his 
father.  He  was,  indeed,  already  a  legitimate  child  ac- 
cording to  the  law  of  Scotland,  by  the  subsequent  marriage 
of  his  parents.  Wilful  in  everything.  Sir  George's  sole 
desire  now  was  to  see  this  son,  even  should  his  recovery 
bring  with  it  a  new  series  of  misfortunes,  as  dreadful  as 
those  which  followed  on  his  being  lost. 

But  where  was  the  youth  who  might  eventually  be 
called  to  the  honors  and  estates  of  this  ancient  family? 
On  what  heath  was  he  wandering,  and  shrouded  by  what 
mean  disguise?  Did  he  gain  his  precarious  bread  by  some 
petty  trade,  by  menial  toil,  by  violence,  or  by  theft?  These 
were  questions  on  which  Sir  George's  anxious  investiga- 
tions could  obtain  no  light.  Many  remembered  that  An- 
naple  Bailzou  wandered  through  the  country  as  a  l)eggar 
and  fortune-teller,  or  spae-wife — .some  remembered  that 
she  had  been  seen  with  an  infant  in  1737  or  1738,  but  for 
more  than  ten  years  she  had  not  travelled  that  district; 
and  that  she  had  been  heard  to  say  she  was  going  to  a 
distant  part  of  Scotland,  of  which  country  she  was  a 
native.  To  Scotland,  therefore,  came  Sir  George  Staun- 
ton, having  parted  with  his  lady  at  Glasg<nv;  and  his 
arrival  at  E<linburgh  happening  to  <'()iM('i<l('  with  tlio 
sitting  of  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Kirk,  his  ac- 
quaintance with  the  nobleman  who  held  the  office  of  Lord 
High  (Commissioner  forced  him  more  into  public  than 
suited  either  his  views  or  inclinations. 


570  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

At  the  public  table  of  this  nobleman,  Sir  George 
Staunton  was  placed  next  to  a  clerg:yman  of  respectable 
appearance,  and  well-bred,  though  plain  demeanor,  whose 
name  he  discovered  to  be  Butler.  It  had  been  no  part  of 
Sir  George's  plan  to  take  his  brother-in-law  into  his  con- 
tidence,  and  he  had  rejoiced  exceedingly  in  the  assurances 
he  received  from  his  wife,  that  ]Mrs.  Butler,  the  very  soul 
of  integrity  and  honor,  had  never  sutlered  the  account  he 
had  given  of  himself  at  Willingham  Rectory  to  transpire, 
even  to  her  husband.  But  he  was  not  sorry  to  have  an 
opportunity  to  converse  with  so  near  a  connection,  without 
being  known  to  him,  and  to  form  a  judgment  of  his 
character  and  understanding.  He  saw  much,  and  heard 
more,  to  raise  Butler  very  high  in  his  opinion.  He  found 
he  was  generally  respected  by  those  of  his  own  profession, 
as  w^ell  as  by  the  laity  who  had  seats  in  the  Assembly.  He 
had  made  several  public  appearances  in  the  Assembly, 
distinguished  by  good  sense,  candor,  and  ability;  and  he 
Avas  followed  and  admired  as  a  sound,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  an  eloquent  preacher. 

This  was  all  very  satisfactory  to  Sir  George  Staunton's 
pride,  which  had  revolted  at  the  idea  of  his  wife's  sister 
being  obscurely  married.  He  now  began,  on  the  contrary, 
to  think  the  connection  so  much  better  than  he  expected, 
that,  if  it  should  be  necessary  to  acknowledge  it,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  recovery  of  his  son.  it  would  sound  well 
enough  that  Lady  Staunton  had  a  sister,  who,  in  the  de- 
cayed state  of  the  family,  had  married  a  Scottish  clergy- 
man, high  in  the  opinion  of  his  countrymen,  and  a  leader 
in  the  Church. 

It  was  with  these  feelings,  that,  when  the  Lord  High 
Commissioner's  company  broke  up.  Sir  George  Staunton, 
under  pretence  of  prolonging  some  inquiries  concerning 
the  constitution  of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  requested 
Butler  to  go  home  to  his  lodgings  in  the  Lawnmarket,  and 
drink  a  cup  of  cotlee.  Butler  agreed  to  wait  upon  him, 
providing  Sir  George  would  permit  him,  in  passing,  to 
call  at  a  friend's  house  where  he  resided,  and  make  his 
apology  for  not  coming  to  partake  her  tea.  They  pro- 
ceeded up  the  High  Street,  entered  the  Krames,  and 
passed  the  begging-box,  placed  to  remind  those  at  liberty 
of  the  distresses  of  the  poor  prisoners.     Sir  George  paused 


THE    HEART    OE    MID-LOTHIAN  r,77 

there  one  instant,  and  next  day  a  £20  note  was  found  in 
that  receptaolo  for  public  charity. 

Wlien  he  eanie  up  to  Butler  a^ain,  he  found  him  with 
liis  eyes  tixed  on  the  entrance  of  the  Tolbooth,  and  ap- 
l)arently  in  deep  thoug:ht. 

"That  seems  a  very  strong  door,"  said  Sir  George,  by 
way  of  saying  something. 

"It  is  so,  sir,"  said  Butler,  turning  off  and  beginning 
to  walk  forward,  "but  it  was  my  misfortune  at  one  time 
t©  see  it  prove  greatly  too  weak." 

At  this  moment,  looking  at  his  companion,  he  asked 
him  whether  he  felt  himself  ill?  and  Sir  George  Staunton 
admitted,  that  he  had  been  so  foolish  as  to  eat  ice,  which 
sometimes  disagreed  with  him.  With  kind  officiousness, 
that  would  not  be  gainsaid,  and  ere  he  could  find  out 
where  he  was  going,  Butler  hurried  Sir  George  into  the 
friend's  house,  near  to  the  prison,  in  which  he  himself 
had  Vnod  since  he  came  to  town,  being,  indeed,  no  other 
than  that  of  our  old  friend  Bartoline  Saddletree,  in  which 
Lady  Staunton  had  served  a  short  noviciate  as  a  shop- 
maid.  This  recollection  rushed  on  her  husband's  mind, 
and  the  blush  of  shame  which  it  excited  overpowered  the 
sensation  of  fear  which  had  produced  his  former  paleness. 
(Jood  ^Irs.  Saddletree,  however,  bustled  about  to  receive 
the  rich  English  baronet  as  the  friend  of  ^[r.  Butler,  and 
requested  an  elderly  female  in  a  black  gown  to  sit  still,  in 
a  way  which  seemed  to  im]ily  a  wish,  that  she  wo\dd  clear 
the  way  for  her  betters.  lu  the  meanwhile,  understanding 
the  state  of  the  case,  she  ran  to  get  some  cordial  waters, 
sovereign,  of  course,  in  all  cases  of  faintishness  whatso- 
ever. During  her  absence,  her  visitor,  the  female  in  black, 
made  some  i)rogress  out  of  the  room,  and  might  have  left 
it  altogether  without  particular  observation,  had  she  not 
stumbled  at  the  threshold,  so  near  Sir  George  Staunton, 
that  he.  in  point  of  civility,  raised  her  and  assisted  her 
to  the  door. 

"^Irs.  Porteous  is  turned  very  doited  now,  ])uir  body," 
said  ^Irs.  Sjiddletree,  as  she  n'turiu'd  with  her  bottle  in 
her  hand — "She  is  no  sae  aiild,  but  she  got  a  sair  back- 
cast  wi'  the  slaughter  o'  her  husband — Ve  had  some 
trouble  about  that  job,  Mr.  ]>utler. — 1   think,  sir,''  in  Sir 


578  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

George,  "ye  had  better  drink  out  the  haill  glass,  for  to  my 
een  ye  look  waur  than  when  ye  came  in." 

And,  indeed,  he  grew  as  pale  as  a  corpse,  on  recollecting 
who  it  was  that  his  arm  had  so  lately  supported — the 
widow  whom  he  had  so  large  a  share  in  making  such. 

'Tt  is  a  prescribed  job  that  case  of  Porteous  now." 
said  old  Saddletree,  who  was  confined  to  his  chair  by  the 
gout — ''clean  prescribed  and  out  of  date." 

"I  am  not  clear  of  that,  neighbor,"  said  Plumdamas, 
"for  I  have  heard  them  say  twenty  years  should  rin,  and 
this  is  but  the  fifty-ane — Porteous's  mob  was  in  thretty- 
seven." 

"•Yell  no  teach  me  law,  I  think,  neighbor — me  that  has 
four  gaun  pleas,  and  might  hae  had  fourteen,  an  it  hadna 
been  the  gudewife?  I  tell  ye,  if  the  foremost  of  the 
Porteous  mob  were  standing  there  where  that  gentleman 
stands,  the  King's  Advocate  wadna  meddle  wi'  him — it 
fa's  under  the  negative  prescription." 

"Hand  your  din,  carles,"  said  Mrs.  Saddletree,  "and  let 
the  gentleman  sit  down  and  get  a  dish  of  comfortable  tea.'' 

But  Sir  George  had  had  quite  enough  of  their  conversa- 
tion ;  and  Butler,  at  his  request,  made  an  apology  to  Mrs. 
Saddletree,  and  accompanied  him  to  his  lodgings.  Here 
they  found  another  guest  waiting  Sir  George  Staunton's 
return.  This  was  no  other  than  our  reader's  old  acquaint- 
ance, Ratclilfe. 

This  man  had  exercised  the  office  of  turnkey  with  so 
much  vigilance,  acuteness,  and  fidelity,  that  he  gradually 
rose  to  be  governor,  or  captain  of  the  Tolbooth.  And  it  is 
yet  remembered  in  tradition,  that  young  men,  who  rather 
sought  amusing  than  select  society  in  their  merry-meet- 
ings, used  sometimes  to  request  Ratcliffe's  company,  in 
order  that  he  might  regale  them  with  legends  of  his  ex- 
traordinary feats  in  the  way  of  robbery  and  escape.*  But 
he  lived  and  died  without  resuming  his  original  vocation, 
otherwise  than  in  his  narratives  over   a   bottle. 

*  There  seems  an  anachronism  in  the  history  of  this  person.  Rat- 
cliffe,  among  other  escapes  from  justice,  was  released  by  the  Porteous 
mob  when  under  sentence  of  death;  and  he  was  again  under  the  same 
predicament  when  the  Highlanders  made  a  similar  jail-delivery  in  1745. 
He  was  too  sincere  a  Whig  to  embrace  liberation  at  the  hands  of  the 
Jacobites,  and  in  reward  was  made  one  of  the  keepers  of  the  Tolbooth. 
So  at   least   runs   a  constant   tradition. 


THE    HEART    OF    :\IID-LOTHIAN  57!) 

Under  these  eireiinistanoes,  he  had  been  reconinieiuled  to 
Sir  Georfze  Staunton  by  a  man  of  the  hiw  in  Edinburuli.  as  a 
jHTson  likely  to  answer  any  questions  he  nii^ht  have  to  ask 
about  Anaple  Bailzou,  who,  aeeording  to  the  eolor  which  Sir 
Ceorgre  Staunton  gave  to  his  cause  of  inquiry,  was  sup- 
posed to  have  stolen  a  child  in  the  west  of  England,  he- 
longing  to  a  family  in  which  he  was  interested.  The 
gentleman  had  not  mentioned  his  name,  but  only  his 
official  title;  so  that  Sir  George  Staunton,  when  told  that 
the  captain  of  the  Tolbooth  was  waiting  for  him  in  his 
parlor,  had  no  idea  of  meeting  his  former  acquaintance, 
Jem  Ratclitfe. 

This,  therefore,  was  another  new  and  most  unpleasant 

ir]trise,  for  he  had  no  difficulty  in  recollecting  this  man's 
i'  iiiarkable  features.  The  change,  however,  from  George 
Robertson  to  Sir  George  Staunton,  baffled  even  the 
penetration  of  Ratclitfe,  and  he  bowed  very  low  to  the 
baronet  and  his  guest,  hoping  Mr.  Butler  would  excuse  his 
recollecting  that   he  was  an  old  acquaintance. 

"And  once  rendered  my  wife  a  piece  of  great  service," 
said  Mr.  Butler,  "for  which  she  sent  you  a  token  of  grate- 
ful acknowledgment,  which  I  hope  came  safe  and  was 
welcome." 

"Deil  a  doubt  on't,"  said  RatclifFe,  with  a  knowing  nod; 
"but  ye  are  muekle  changed  for  the  better  since  I  saw  ye, 
Maister  Butler." 

"So  much  so,  that  I  wonder  you  knew  me." 

"Aha,  then ! — Deil  a  face  I  see  I  ever  forget,"  said 
Ratcliffe;  while  Sir  George  Staunton,  tied  to  the  stake, 
:ind  incapable  of  escaping,  internally  cursed  the  accuracy 
of  his  memory.  "And  yet,  sometimes,"  continued  Rat- 
clilTe,  ''the  sharpest  hand  will  be  ta'en  in.  There  is  a 
face  in  this  very  room,  if  I  might  presume  to  be  sae  bauld, 
that  if  I  didna  ken  the  honorable  person  it  belangs  to — I 
might  think  it  had  some  east  of  an  auld  acciuaintance." 

"I  should  not  be  mueh  flattered,"  answered  the  J^aronet 
sternly,  and  roused  by  the  risk  in  which  he  saw  himself 
jdaeed,  "if  it  is  to  mo  you  mean  to  apply  that  eomi)li- 
ment." 

"T-}y  no  manner  of  means,  sir,"  said  RatelifTe,  bowing 
ver>-  low;  "I  am  come  to  receive  your  honor's  commands, 
and  no  to  trouble  your  honor  wi*  my  poor  obs«^rvations." 


580  THE    HEART    OF    MID-L0THIA:N" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Sir  George,  "I  am  told  you  understand 
police  matters — So  do  I. — To  convince  you  of  which, 
here  are  ten  guineas  of  retaining  fee — I  make  them  fifty 
when  you  can  find  me  certain  notice  of  a  person,  living 
or  dead,  whom  you  will  find  described  in  that  paper.  I 
shall  leave  town  presently — you  may  send  your  written 

answer  to  me  to  the  care  of  Mr. "  (naming  his  highly 

respectable  agent),  "or  of  his  Grace  the  Lord  High  Com- 
missioner.''    Ratcliffe  bowed  and  withdrew. 

"I  have  angered  the  proud  peat  now,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"by  finding  out  a  likeness — but  if  George  Robertson's 
father  had  lived  w^ithin  a  mile  of  his  mother,  d — n  me  if 
I  should  not  know  what  to  think,  for  as  high  as  he  carries 
his  head." 

When  he  was  left  alone  with  Butler,  Sir  George  Staun- 
ton ordered  tea  and  coffee,  which  were  brought  by  his 
valet,  and  then,  after  considering  with  himself  for  a 
minute,  asked  his  guest  whether  he  had  lately  heard  from 
his  wife  and  family.  Butler,  with  some  surprise  at  the 
question,  replied,  "that  he  had  received  no  letter  for 
some  time ;  his  wife  was  a  poor  pen-woman." 

"Then,"  said  Sir  George  Staunton,  "I  am  the  first  to 
inform  you  there  has  been  an  invasion  of  your  quiet  | 
premises  since  you  left  home.  My  wife,  whom  the  Duke 
of  Argyle  had  the  goodness  to  permit  to  use  Roseneath 
Lodge,  while  she  was  spending  some  weeks  in  your  coun- 
try, has  sallied  across  and  taken  up  her  quarters  in  the 
Manse,  as  she  says,  to  be  nearer  the  goats,  whose  milk 
she  is  using;  but  I  believe,  in  reality,  because  she  prefers 
Mrs.  Butler's  company  to  that  of  the  respectable  gentle- 
man who  acts  as  seneschal  on  the  Duke's  domains." 

Mr.  Butler  said,  "He  had  often  heard  the  late  Duke  and 
the  present  speak  with  high  respect  of  Lady  Staunton, 
and  was  happy  if  his  house  could  accommodate  any  friend 
of  theirs — it  would  be  but  a  very  slight  acknowledgment 
of  the  many  favors  he  owed  them." 

"That  does  not  make  Lady  Staunton  and  myself  the 
less  obliged  to  your  hospitality,  sir,"  said  Sir  George. 
"May  I  inquire  if  you  think  of  returning  home  soon?" 

"In  the  course  of  two  days,"  Mr.  Butler  answered,  "his 
duty  in  the  Assembly  would  be  ended;  and  the  other  mat- 
ters he  had  in  town  being  all  finished,  he  was  desirous  of  re 


TIIK    HEART    OF    MID-LOTIIIAX  581 

turning  to  Dumbartonshire  as  soon  as  he  could;  but  he 
was  under  the  necessity  of  transporting  a  considerable 
sum  in  bills  and  money  with  him,  and  therefore  wished 
to  travel  in  company  with  one  or  two  of  his  brethren  of 
the    cK^rgy/' 

"'My  escort  will  be  more  safe,"  said  Sir  George  Staun- 
ton, "and  1  think  of  setting  off  to-morrow  or  next  day. 
If  you  will  give  me  the  pleasure  of  your  company,  I  will 
undertake  to  deliver  you  and  your  charge  safe  at  the 
Manse,  provided  you  will  admit  me  along  with  you." 

Mr.  Butler  gratefully  accepted  of  this  proposal;  the 
appointment  was  made  accordingly,  and  by  despatches 
with  one  of  Sir  George's  servants,  who  was  sent  forward 
for  the  purpose,  the  inhabitants  of  the  manse  of  Knock- 
tarlitie  were  made  acquainted  with  the  intended  journey; 
and  the  news  rung  through  the  whole  vicinity,  "that  the 
minister  was  coming  back  wi'  a  braw  English  gentleman, 
and  a'  the  siller  that  was  to  pay  for  the  estate  of 
Craigsture." 

This  sudden  resolution  of  going  to  Knocktarlitie  had 
been  adopted  by  Sir  George  Staunton  in  consequence  of 
the  incidents  of  the  evening.  In  spite  of  his  present  con- 
sequence, he  felt  he  had  presumed  too  far  in  venturing  so 
near  the  scene  of  his  former  audacious  acts  of  violence, 
and  he  knew  too  well,  from  past  experience,  the  acuteness 
of  a  man  like  Ratcliffe,  again  to  encounter  him.  The 
next  two  days  he  kept  his  lodgings,  under  pretence  of  in- 
disposition, and  took  leave,  by  writing,  of  his  noble  friend, 
the  High  Citnunissioner.  alleging  the  opportunity  of  ^fr. 
Butler's  company  as  a  reason  for  leaving  Edinburgh 
sooner  than  he  had  proposed.  He  had  a  long  conference 
with  his  agent  on  the  subject  of  Annaple  Bailzou;  and 
the  professional  gentleman,  who  was  the  agent  also  of  the 
Argyle  family,  ha<l  directions  to  collect  all  the  informa- 
tion which  KatclifTe  or  others  might  be  able  to  obtain  con- 
cerning the  fate  of  that  wonum  and  the  unfortunate 
child,  and,  so  soon  as  anything  transpired  which  had  the 
least  appearance  of  being  important,  that  he  should  send 
an  express  with  it  instantly  to  Knocktarlitie.  These  in- 
structions were  backed  with  a  deposit  of  mone.y,  and  a 
request  that  no  expense  might  be  spared;  so  that  Si,* 
George    Staunton   had    little    reason    to    apprehend    ncii!.- 


582  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

gence   on    the   part    of    the   persons    entrusted    with    the 
commission. 

The  journey,  which  the  brothers  made  in  company,  was 
attended  with  more  pleasure,  even  to  Sir  George  Staun- 
ton, than  he  had  ventured  to  expect.  His  heart  lightened 
in  spite  of  himself  when  they  lost  sight  of  Edinburgh; 
and  the  easy,  sensible  conversation  of  Butler  was  well 
calculated  to  withdraw  his  thoughts  from  painful  reflec- 
tions. He  even  began  to  think  whether  there  could  be 
much  difficulty  in  removing  his  wife's  connections  to  the 
Rectory  of  Willingham ;  it  was  only  on  his  part  procuring 
some  still  better  preferment  for  the  present  incumbent, 
and  on  Bvitler's,  that  he  should  take  orders  according  to 
the  English  church,  to  which  he  could  not  conceive  a  pos- 
sibility of  his  making  objection,  and  then  he  had  them 
residing  under  his  wing.  No  doubt,  there  was  pain  in 
seeing  Mrs.  Butler,  acquainted,  as  he  knew  her  to  be,  with 
the  full  truth  of  his  evil  history — But  then  her  silence, 
though  he  had  no  reason  to  complain  of  her  indiscretion 
hitherto,  was  still  more  absolutely  insured.  It  would 
keep  his  lady,  also,  both  in  good  temper  and  in  more  sub- 
jection; for  she  was  sometimes  troublesome  to  him,  by 
insisting  on  remaining  in  town  when  he  desired  to  retire 
to  the  country,  alleging  the  total  want  of  society  at  Wil- 
lingham. "Madam,  your  sister  is  there,"  would,  he 
thought,  be  a  sufficient  answer  to  this  ready  argument. 

He  sounded  Butler  on  this  subject,  asking  what  he 
would  think  of  an  English  living  of  twelve  hundred 
pounds  yearly,  with  the  burden  of  affording  his  company 
now  and  then  to  a  neighbor  whose  health  was  not  strong, 
or  his  spirits  equal.  "He  might  meet,"  he  said,  "occa- 
sionally, a  very  learned  and  accomplished  gentleman,  who 
was  in  orders  as  a  Catholic  priest,  but  he  hoped  that 
would  be  no  insurmountable  objection  to  a  man  of  his 
liberality  of  sentiment.  What,"  he  said,  "would  Mr. 
Butler  think  of  as  an  answer,  if  the  offer  should  be  made 
to  him?" 

"Simply  that  I  could  not  accept  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Butler. 
"I  have  no  mind  to  enter  into  the  various  debates  between 
the  churches;  but  I  was  brought  up  in  mine  own,  have 
received  her  ordination,  am  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  her 


THE    IIKAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  583 

doctrines,  and  will  die  under  the  banner  I  have  enlisted 
to." 

"What  may  be  the  value  of  your  preferment?"  said  Sir 
(ieorjre  Staunton,  "unless  I  am  asking  an  indiscreet 
question.'' 

"Probably  one  hundred  a  year,  one  year  with  another, 
besides   my   glebe   and    pasture-ground." 

"And  you  scruple  to  exchange  that  for  twelve  hundred 
a  year,  without  alleging  any  damning  difference  of  doc- 
trine betwixt  the  two  Churches  of  England  and  Scotland?" 

"On  that,  sir.  I  have  reserved  my  judgment;  there  may 
be  much  good,  and  there  are  certainly  saving  means  in 
both,  but  every  man  must  act  according  to  his  own  lights. 
I  hope  1  have  done,  and  am  in  the  course  of  doing,  my 
blaster's  work  in  this  Highland  parish;  and  it  would  ill 
become  me,  for  the  sake  of  lucre,  to  leave  my  sheep  in  the 
wilderness.  But,  even  in  the  temporal  view  which  you 
have  taken  of  the  matter,  Sir  George,  this  hundred  pounds 
a  year  of  stipend  hath  fed  and  clothed  us,  and  left  us 
nothing  to  wish  for;  my  father-in-law's  succession,  and 
other  circumstances,  have  added  a  small  estate  of  about 
twice  as  much  more,  and  how  we  are  to  dispose  of  it  I 
do  not  know — So  I  leave  it  to  you,  sir,  to  think  if  I  were 
wise,  not  having  the  wish  or  opportunity  of  spending 
three  hundred  a  year,  to  covet  the  possession  of  four  times 
that  sum." 

"This  is  philosophy,"  said  Sir  George;  "I  have  heard 
of  it,  but  I  never  saw  it  before." 

"It  is  common  sense,"  replied  Butler,  "which  accords 
v.'ith  philosophy  and  religion  more  frequently  than  pedants 
or  zealots  are  apt  to  admit." 

Sir  CJeorge  turned  the  subject,  and  <lid  not  again  resume 
it.  Although  they  travelled  in  Sir  (Jeorge's  chariot,  he 
seemed  so  ^luch  fatigued  with  the  motion,  that  it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  remain  for  a  day  at  a  small  town 
called  Mid-Calder,  which  was  their  first  stage  from  Edin- 
burgh. Cilasgow  occupied  another  day,  so  slow  were  their 
motions. 

They  travelled  on  to  Dumbarton,  where  they  had  re- 
solved to  leave  the  equipage,  and  to  hire  a  boat  to  take 
them  to  the  shores  near  the  Manse,  as  the  Gare-Loch  lay 
betwixt  them  and  that  point,  besides  the  impossibility  of 


584  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX 

travelling  in  that  district  with  wheel-carriages.  Sir 
George's  valet,  a  man  of  trust,  accompanied  them,  as  also 
a  footman ;  the  grooms  were  left  with  the  carriage.  Just 
as  this  arrangement  was  completed,  which  was  about  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  an  express  arrived  from  Sir 
George's  agent  in  Edinburgh,  with  a  packet,  which  he 
opened  and  read  with  great  attention,  appearing  much  in- 
terested and  agitated  by  the  contents.  The  packet  had 
been  despatched  very  soon  after  their  leaving  Edinburgh, 
but  the  messenger  had  missed  the  travellers  by  passing 
through  Mid-Calder  in  the  night,  and  overshot  his  errand 
by  getting  to  Roseneath  before  them.  He  was  now  on 
his  return,  after  having  waited  more  than  four-and- 
twenty  hours.  Sir  George  Staunton  instantly  wrote  back 
an  answer,  and,  rewarding  the  messenger  liberally,  de- 
sired him  not  to  sleep  till  he  placed  it  in  his  agent's 
hands. 

At  length  they  embarked  in  the  boat,  which  had  waited 
for  them  some  time.  During  their  voyage,  which  was 
slow,  for  they  were  obliged  to  row  the  whole  way,  and 
often  against  the  tide.  Sir  George  Staunton's  inquiries 
ran  chiefly  on  the  subject  of  the  Highland  banditti  who 
had  infested  that  country  since  the  year  1745.  Butler 
informed  him,  that  many  of  them  were  not  native  High- 
landers, but  gipsies,  tinkers,  and  other  men  of  desperate 
fortunes,  who  had  taken  advantage  of  the  confusion  in- 
troduced by  the  civil  war,  the  general  discontent  of  the 
mountaineers,  and  the  unsettled  state  of  police,  to  practise 
their  plundering  trade  with'  more  audacity.  Sir  George 
next  inquired  into  their  lives,  their  habits,  whether  the 
violences  which  they  committed  were  not  sometimes 
atoned  for  by  acts  of  generosity,  and  whether  they  did 
not  possess  the  virtues,  as  well  as  the  vices,  of  savage 
tribes  ? 

Butler  answered,  that  certainly  they  did  sometimes 
show  sparks  of  generosity,  of  which  even  the  worst  class 
of  malefactors  are  seldom  utterly  divested;  but  that  their 
evil  propensities  were  certain  and  regular  principles  of 
action,  while  any  occasional  burst  of  virtuous  feeling  was 
only  a  transient  impulse  not  to  be  reckoned  upon,  and 
excited  probably  by  some  singular  and  unusual  concatena- 
tion   of    circumstances.      In    discussing    these    inquiries, 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  585 

which  Sir  George  pursued  with  an  apparent  eagerness 
that  rather  surprised  Butler,  the  latter  chanced  to  men- 
tion the  name  of  Donacha  Dhu  na  Dunaigh,  with  which  the 
reader  is  already  acquainted.  .  Sir  George  caught  the 
sound  up  eagerly,  and  as  if  it  conveyed  particular  interest 
to  his  ear.  He  made  the  most  minute  inquiries  concern- 
ing the  man  whom  he  mentioned,  the  number  of  his  gang, 
and  even  the  appearance  of  those  who  belonged  to  it. 
Upon  these  points  Butler  could  give  little  answer.  The 
man  had  a  name  among  the  lower  class,  but  his  exploits 
were  considerably  exaggerated ;  he  had  always  one  or 
two  fellows  with  him,  but  never  aspiretl  to  the  command 
of  above  three  or  four.  In  short,  he  knew  little  about 
him.  and  the  small  acquaintance,  he  had,  had  by  no  means 
inclined  him  to  desire  more." 

"Nevertheless,  I  should  like  to  see  him  some  of  these 
days." 

"That  would  be  a  dangerous  meeting.  Sir  George,  un- 
less you  mean  we  are  to  see  him  receive  his  deserts  from 
the  law,  and  then  it  were  a  melancholy  one." 

"Use  every  man  according  to  his  deserts,  Mr.  Butler, 
and  who  shall  escape  whipping?  But  I  am  talking  riddles 
to  you.  I  will  explain  them  more  fully  to  you  when  I 
have  spoken  over  the  subject  with  Lady  Staunton. — Pull 
away,  my  lads,"  he  added,  addressing  himself  to  the 
rowers;   "the  clouds  threaten  us  with  a  storm." 

In  fact,  the  dead  and  heavy  closeness  of  the  air,  the 
huge  piles  of  clouds  which  assembled  in  the  western  hori- 
zon, and  glowed  like  a  furnace  under  the  influence  of  the 
setting  sun — that  awful  stillness  in  which  nature  seems 
to  expect  the  thunderburst,  as  a  condemned  soldier  waits 
for  the  platoon-fire  whicTi  is  to  stretch  him  on  the  earth, 
all  betokened  a  speedy  storm.  Large  broad  drops  fell 
from  time  to  time,  and  induced  the  gentlemen  to  assume 
the  boat-cloaks;  but  the  rain  again  ceased,  and  the  op- 
pressive heat,  so  unusual  in  Scotland  in  the  end  of  May, 
inclined  them  to  throw  them  aside.  "There  is  some- 
thing solemn  in  this  delay  of  the  storm,"  said  Sir  George; 
"it  seems  as  if  it  suspended  its  i)eal  till  it  solemnized 
some  important  event  in  the  world  below." 

"Alas  I"  replied  Butler,  "what  are  we,  that  the  laws  of 
nature  should  correspond  in  their  march  with  our  ephem- 


586  THE    HEART  .  OE    MID-LOTHIAN 

eral  deeds  or  sufferings  ?  The  clouds  will  burst  when 
surcharged  with  the  electric  fluid,  whether  a  goat  is 
falling  at  that  instant  from  the  cliffs  of  Arran,  or  a  hero 
expiring  on  the  field  of  battle  he  has  won." 

"The  mind  delights  to  deem  it  otherwise,"  said  Sir 
George  Staunton;  "and  to  dwell  on  the  fate  of  humanity 
as  on  that  which  is  the  prime  central  movement  of  the 
mighty  machine.  We  love  not  to  think  that  we  shall  mix 
with  the  ages  that  have  gone  before  us,  as  these  broad 
black  raindrops  mingle  with  the  waste  of  waters,  making 
a  trifling  and  momentary  eddy,  and  are  then  lost  for- 
ever." . 

"Forever! — we  are  not — we  cannot  be  lost  forever," 
said  Butler,  looking  upward;  "death  is  to  us  change,  not 
consummation ;  and  the  commencement  of  a  new  ex- 
istence, corresponding  in  character  to  the  deeds  which  we 
have  done  in  the  body." 

While  they  agitated  these  grave  subjects,  to  which  the 
solemnity  of  the  approaching  storm  naturally  led  them, 
their  voyage  threatened  to  be  more  tedious  than  they 
expected,  for  gusts  of  wind,  which  rose  and  fell  with 
sudden  impetuosity,  swept  the  bosom  of  the  firth,  and 
impeded  the  efforts  of  the  rowers.  They  had  now  only  to 
double  a  small  headland,  in  order  to  get  to  the  proper 
landing-place  in  the  mouth  of  the  little  river;  but  in  the 
state  of  the  weather,  and  the  boat  being  heavy,  this  was 
like  to  be  a  work  of  time,  and  in  the  meanwhile  they  must 
necessarily  be  exposed  to  the  storm. 

"Could  we  not  land  on  this  side  of  the  headland," 
asked   Sir  George,   "and  so  gain  some  shelter?" 

Butler  knew  of  no  landing-place,  at  least  none  affording 
a  convenient  or  even  practicable  passage  up  the  rocks 
■which  surrounded  the  shore. 

"Think  again,"  said  Sir  George  Staunton;  "the  storm 
will  soon  be  violent." 

"Hout,  ay,"  said  one  of  the  boatmen,  "there's  the 
Caird's  CoVe;  but  we  dinna  tell  the  minister  about  it, 
and  I  am  no  sure  if  I  can  steer  the  boat  to  it,  the  bay 
is  sae  fu'  o'  shoals  and  sunk  rocks." 

"Try,"  said  Sir  George,  "and  I  will  give  you  half-a- 
guinea." 

The  old  fellow  took  the  helm,  and  observed,  "that  if 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  587 

they  could  get  in,  there  was  a  steep  path  up  from  the 
beach,  and  half-an-hour's  walk  from  thence  to  the  Mans»^." 

"Are  you  sure  you  know  the  way  ?''  said  Butler  to  the 
old  man. 

"I  maybe  kend  it  a  wee  better  fifteen  years  syne,  when 
Dandie  Wilson  was  in  the  firth  wi'  his  clean-panging 
lugrgrer.  I  mind  Dandie  had  a  wild  young  Encrlisher  wi' 
him.  that  they  ca'd " 

"If  you  chatter  so  much."  said  Sir  George  Staunton, 
*Vou  will  have  the  boat  on  the  Grindstone — bring  that 
white  rock   in   a  line  with  the  steeple." 

"By  G — ."  said  the  reteran,  staring.  ''T  think  your 
•  honor  kens  the  bay  as  weel  as  me. — Your  honor's  nose  has 
been  on  the  Grindstane  ere  now,  I'm  thinking." 

As  they  spoke  thus,  they  approached  the  little  cove, 
which,  concealed  behind  crags,  and  defended  on  every 
point  by  shallows  and  sunken  rocks,  could  scarce  be  dis- 
covered or  approached,  except  by  those  intimate  with  the 
navigation.  An  old  shattered  boat  was  already  drawn  up 
on  the  beach  within  the  cove,  close  beneath  the  trees,  and 
with   precautions   for  concealment. 

Upon  observing  this  vessel,  Butler  remarked  to  his  com- 
panion, ''It  is  impossible  for  you  to  conceive.  Sir  George, 
the  difficulty  I  have  had  with  my  poor  people,  in  teaching 
them  the  guilt  and  the  danger  of  this  contraband  trade — 
yet  they  have  perjiotually  before  their  eyes  all  its  danger- 
ous consequences.  I  do  not  know  anything  that  more 
effectually  depraves  and  ruins  their  moral  and  religious 
principles,'' 

Sir  George  forced  himself  to  say  something  in  a  low 
voice,  about  the  spirit  of  adventure  natural  to  youth,  and 
that  un(iuestionably  many  would  become  wiser  as  they 
grew  older. 

"Too  seldom,  sir,"  replied  Butler.  "If  they  have  been 
deeply  engaged,  and  especially  if  they  have  mingled  in 
the  scenes  of  violence  and  blood  to  which  their  occupa- 
tion naturally  leads,  I  have  observed,  that,  sooner  or 
later,  they  come  to  an  evil  end.  Experience,  as  well  as 
Scripture,  teaches  us,  Sir  George,  that  mischief  shall  hunt 
the  violent  man,  and  that  the  bbxxlthirsty  man  shall  not 
live  half  his  days — But  take  my  arm  to  help  you  ashore." 

Sir  George  needed  assistance,  for  he  was  contrasting  in 


588  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

his  altered  thought  the  different  feelings  of  mind  and 
frame  with  which  he  had  formerly  frequented  the  same 
place.  As  they  landed,  a  low  growl  of  thunder  was  heard 
at  a  distance. 

''That  is  ominous,  Mr.  Butler,"  said  Sir  George. 

"Intoniiit  loevum — it  is  ominous  of  good,  then,"  an- 
swered Butler,  smiling. 

The  boatmen  were  ordered  to  make  the  best  of  their  way 
round  the  headland  to  the  ordinary  landing-place;  the  two 
gentlemen,  followed  by  their  servant,  sought  their  way  by 
a  blind  and  tangled  path,  through  a  close  copsewood  to 
the  Manse  of  Knocktarlitie,  where  their  arrival  was  anx- 
iously expected. 

The  sisters  in  vain  had  expected  their  husbands'  return 
on  the  preceding  day,  which  w^as  that  appointed  by  Sir 
George's  letter.  The  delay  of  the  travellers  at  Calder  had 
occasioned  this  breach  of  appointment.  The  inhabitants 
of  the  Manse  began  even  to  doubt  whether  they  would 
arrive  on  the  present  day.  Lady  Staunton  felt  this  hope 
of  delay  as  a  brief  reprieve ;  for  she  dreaded  the  pangs  which 
her  husband's  pride  must  undergo  at  meeting  with  a 
sister-in-law,  to  whom  the  whole  of  his  unhappy  and  dis- 
honorable history  was  too  well  known.  She  knew,  what- 
ever force  or  constraint  he  might  put  upon  his  feelings  in 
public,  that  she  herself  must  be  doomed  to  see  them  dis- 
play themselves  in  full  vehemence  in  secret. — consume  his 
health,  destroy  his  temper,  and  render  him  at  once  an 
object  of  dread  and  compassion.  Again  and  again  she 
cautioned  Jeanie  to  display  no  tokens  of  recognition,  but 
to  receive  him  as  a  perfect  stranger, — and  again  and 
again  Jeanie  renewed  her  promise  to  comply  with  her 
wishes. 

Jeanie  herself  could  not  fail  to  bestow  an  anxious 
thought  on  the  awkwardness  of  the  approaching  meeting; 
but  her  conscience  was  ungalled — and  then  she  was  cum- 
bered with  many  household  cares  of  an  unusual  nature, 
which,  joined  to  the  anxious  wish  once  more  to  see  Butler, 
after  an  absence  of  unusual  length,  made  her  extremely 
desirous  that  the  travellers  should  arrive  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. And — why  should  I  disguise  the  truth  ? — ever  and 
anon  a  thought  stole  across  her  mind  that  her  gala  dinner 
had  now  been  postponed  for  two  days;  and  how  few  of  the 


TlIK    IlKAKT    OF    MID-LOTIIIAX  589 

dishes,  after  ever>'  art  of  her  simple  cuisine  had  been 
exerted  to  dress  them,  eoiild  with  any  credit  or  propriety 
appear  again  upon  the  third;  and  what  was  she  to  do  with 
tlie  rest? — Upon  this  hist  subject  she  was  saved  the  trouble 
of  farther  deliberation,  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  the 
Captain  at  the  head  of  half-a-dozen  stout  fellows,  dressed 
and  armed  in  the  Highland  fashion. 

"Goot-morrow  morning  to  ye,  Leddy  Staunton,  and  I 
hope  I  hae  the  pleasure  to  see  ye  weel — And  goot-morrow 
tu  you,  goot  Mrs.  Putler — I  do  peg  you  will  order  some 
victuals  and  ale  and  prandy  for  the  lads,  for  we  hae  peen 
out  on  firth  and  moor  since  afore  daylight,  and  a'  to  no 
purpose  neither — Cot  tam !" 

So  saying,  he  sate  down,  pushed  back  his  brigadier 
wig,  and  wiped  his  head  with  an  air  of  easy  importance; 
totally  regardless  of  the  look  of  well-bred  astonishment 
by  which  L^dy  Staunton  endeavored  to  make  him  com- 
prehend that  he  was  assuming  too  great  a  liberty. 

"It  is  some  comfort,  when  one  has  had  a  sair  tussell," 
continued  the  Captain,  addressing  Lady  Staunton,  with 
an  air  of  gallantry,  "that  it  is  in  a  fair  leddy's  service, 
or  in  the  service  of  a  gentleman  whilk  has  a  fair  leddy, 
whilk  is  the  same  thing,  since  serving  the  husband  is 
serving  the  wife,  as  Mrs.  Putler  does  very  weel  know." 

"Really,  sir,"  said  Lady  Staunton,  "as  you  seem  to  in- 
tend this  compliment  for  me,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  what 
interest  Sir  George  or  I  can  have  in  your  movements  this 
morning." 

"O  Cot  tam! — this  is  too  cruel,  my  leddy — as  if  it  was 
not  py  special  express  from  His  Grace's  honorable  agent 
and  commissioner  at  Edinburgh,  with  a  warrant  conform, 
that  I  was  to  seek  for  and  apprehend  Donacha  dhu  na 
Dunaigh.  and  pring  him  pefore  myself  and  Sir  George 
Staunton,  that  he  may  have  his  deserts,  that  is  to  say, 
the  gallows,  whilk  he  has  doubtless  deserved,  py  peing  the 
means  of  frightening  your  leddyship,  as  weel  as  for  some- 
thing of  less  importance." 

"Frightening  me?"  said  her  ladyship;  "why,  I  never 
wrote  to  Sir  George  about  my  alarm  at  the  waterfall." 

"Then  he  must  have  heard  it  otherwise;  for  what  else 
can  give  him  sic  an  earnest  tesire  to  see  this  rapscallion, 
that  I  maun  ripe  the  haill  mosses  and  muirs  in  the  eonn- 


590  THE    HEAET    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

try  for  him,  as  if  I  were  to  get  something  for  finding  him, 
when  the  pest  o't  might  pe  a  pall  through  my  prains?" 

"Can  it  be  really  true,  that  it  is  on  Sir  George's  account 
that  you  have  been  attempting  to  apprehend  this  fellow?" 

"Py  Cot,  it  is  for  no  other  cause  that  I  know  than  his 
honor's  pleasure;  for  the  creature  might  hae  gone  on  in 
a  decent  quiet  way  for  me,  sae  lang  as  he  respectit  the 
Duke's  pounds — put  reason  goot  he  suld  be  taen,  and 
hangit  to  poot,  if  it  may  pleasure  ony  honorable  shentle- 
man  that  is  the  Duke's  friend — Sae  I  got  the  express  over 
night,  and  I  caused  warn  half  a  score  of  pretty  lads,  and 
was  up  in  the  morning  pefore  the  sun,  and  I  garr'd  the 
lads  take  their  kilts  and  short  coats." 

"I  wonder  you  did  that,  Captain,"  said  Mrs.  Butler, 
"when  you  know  the  Act  of  Parliament  against  wearing 
the  Highland  dress." 

"Hout,  tout,  ne'er  fash  your  thumb,  Mrs.  Putler.  The 
law  is  put  twa-three  years  auld  yet,  and  is  ower  young  to 
hae  come  our  length ;  and  pesides,  how  is  the  lads  to  climb 
the  praes  wi'  thae  tamn'd  breekens  on  them?  It  makes 
me  sick  to  see  them.  Put  ony  how,  I  thought  I  kend 
Donacha's  haunts  gey  and  weel,  and  I  was  at  the  place 
where  he  had  rested  yestreen;  for  I  saw  the  leaves  the 
limmers  had  lain  on,  and  the  ashes  of  them;  by  the  same 
token  there  was  a  pit  greeshoch  purning  yet.  I  am  think- 
ing they  got  some  word  out  o'  the  island  what  was  in- 
tended— I  sought  every  glen  and  cleuch,  as  if  I  had  been 
deer-stalking,  but  teil  a  wauff  of  his  coat-tail  could  I  see 
—Cot  tam!" 

"He'll  be  away  down  the  firth  to  Cowal,"  said  David; 
and  Reuben,  who  had  been  out  early  that  morning  a- 
nutting,  observed,  "That  he  had  seen  a  boat  making  for 
the  Caird's  Cove;"  a  place  well  known  to  the  boys,  though 
their  less  adventurous  father  was  ignorant  of  its  existence. 

"Py  Cot,"  said  Duncan,  "then  I  will  stay  here.no  longer 
than  to  trink  this  very  horn  of  prandy  and  water,  for  it  is 
very  possible  they  will  pe  in  the  wood.  Donacha's  a  clever 
fellow,  and  maybe  thinks  it  pest  to  sit  next  the  chimley 
when  the  lum  reeks.  He  thought  naebody  would  look  for 
him  sae  near  hand !  I  peg  your  leddyship  will  excuse  my 
apriipt  departure,  as  I  will  return  forthwith,  and  I  will 
either  pring  you  Donacha  in  life,  or  else  his  head,  whilk 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTIIIAX  591 

I  dare  to  say  will  be  as  satisfactory.  Aiul  I  hope  to  pass 
a  pleasant  ovening:  with  your  leddyship;  and  1  hope  to 
have  mine  revenges  on  Mr.  Putler  at  paekgammon,  for 
the  four  i)ennies  whilk  he  won,  for  ho  will  ])0  surely  at 
home  soon,  or  else  he  will  have  a  wet  j(»urney,  seeing  it 
is  apout  to  pe  a  scud." 

Thus  saying,  with  many  scrapes  and  bows,  and  apologies 
for  leaving  them,  which  were  very  readily  received,  and 
reiterated  assurances  of  his  speedy  return  (of  the  sincerity 
whereof  Mrs.  Butler  entertained  no  doubt,  so  long  as  her 
best  gray  beard  of  brandy  was  upon  duty),  Duncan  left 
the  Manse,  collected  his  followers,  and  began  to  scour  the 
close  and  entangled  wood  which  lay  between  the  little  glen 
and  the  Caird's  Cove.  David,  who  was  a  favorite  with 
the  Cai)tain,  on  account  of  his  spirit  and  courage,  took 
the  opportunity  of  escaping,  to  attend  the  investigations 
of  that  great  man. 


CHAPTER   LII 


-I  did   send  for  thee. 


That   Talbot's  name  might  be  in    thee  revived, 
When  sapless  age,  and  weak  unable  limbs. 
Should  brin^  thy  father  to  his  drooping  chair. 
But — O   malignant   and   ill  boding  stars! — 

First  Part   of  Henry   the  Sixth. 

Duncan  and  his  party  had  not  proceeded  very  far  in  the 
direction  of  the  Caird's  Cove  before  they  heard  a  shot, 
which  was  quickly  followed  by  one  or  two  others.  "Some 
tamn'd  villains  among  the  roedeer,"  said  Duncan;  "look 
sharp  out,  lads." 

The  clash  of  swords  was  next  heard,  and  Duncan  and 
his  myrmidons,  hastening  to  the  spot,  found  Butler  and 
Sir  Oeorge  Staunton's  servant  in  the  hands  of  four 
ruffians.  Sir  George  himself  lay  stretched  on  the  ground, 
with  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand.  Duncan,  who  was  as 
brave  as  a  lion,  instantly  iired  his  pistol  at  the  leader  of 
the  band,  unsheathed  his  sword,  cried  out  to  his  men, 
Claymore!  and  run  his  weapon  through  the  body  of  the 
fellow  whom  he  had  previously  wounded,  who  was  no  other 


592  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

than  Donacha  dhu  na  Dunaigh  himself.  The  other 
banditti  were  speedily  overpowered,  excepting  one  young* 
lad,  who  made  wonderful  resistance  for  his  years,  and  was 
at  length  secured  with  difficulty. 

Butler,  so  soor  as  he  was  liberated  from  the  ruffians, 
ran  to  raise  Sir  George  Staunton,  but  life  had  wholly  left 
him. 

"A  creat  misfortune,"  said  Duncan;  "I  think  it  will  pe 
pest  that  I  go  forward  to  intimate  it  to  the  coot  leddy. — 
Tavie,  my  dear,  you  hae  smelled  pouther  for  the  first 
time  this  dayi — take  my  sword  and  hack  oif  Donacha's 
head,  whilk  will  pe  coot  practice  for  you  against  the  time 
you  may  wish  to  do  the  same  kindness  to  a  living  shentle- 
man — or  hould,  as  your  father  does  not  approve,  you 
may  leave  it  alone,  as  he  will  pe  a  greater  object  of  satis- 
faction to  Leddy  Staunton  to  see  him  entire;  and  I  hope 
she  will  do  me  the  credit  to  pelieve  that  I  can  afenge  a 
shentleman's  plood  fery  speedily  and  well." 

Such  was  the  observation  of  a  man  too  much  accustomed 
to  the  ancient  state  of  manners  in  the  Highlands,  to  look 
upon  the  issue  of  such  a  skirmish  as  anything  worthy  of 
wonder  or  emotion. 

We  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  very  contrary  effect 
which  the  unexpected  disaster  produced  upon  Lady  Staun- 
ton, when  the  bloody  corpse  of  her  husband  was  brought 
to  the  house,  where  she  expected  to  meet  him  alive  and 
well.  All  was  forgotten,  but  that  he  was  the  lover  of 
her  youth;  and  whatever  were  his  faults  to  the  world, 
that  he  had  toward  her  exhibited  only  those  that  arose 
from  the  inequality  of  spirits  and  temper,  incident  to  a 
situation  of  unparalleled  difficulty.  In  the  vivacity  of  her 
grief  she  gave  way  to  all  the  natural  irritability  of  her 
temper;  shriek  followed  shriek,  and  swoon  succeeded 
swoon.  It  required  all  Jeanie's  watchful  aifection  to  pre- 
vent her  from  making  known,  in  these  paroxysms  of 
affliction,  much  which  it  was  of  the  highest  importance 
that  she  should  keep  secret. 

At  length  silence  and  exhaustion  succeeded  to  frenzy, 
and  Jeanie  stole  out  to  take  counsel  with  her  husband, 
and  to  exhort  him  to  anticipate  the  Captain's  interference, 
by  taking  possession  in  Lady  Staunton's  name,  of  the 
private  papers   of  her  deceased  husband.     To   the  utter 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  593 

astonishment  of  Butler,  she  now,  for  the  first  time,  ex- 
plained the  relation  betwixt  herself  and  Lady  Staunton, 
which  authorized,  nay,  demanded,  that  he  should  prevent 
any  stranger  from  being  unnecessarily  made  acquainted 
with  her  family  affairs.  It  was  in  such  a  crisis  that 
Jeanie's  active  and  undaunted  habits  of  virtuous  exertion 
were  most  conspicuous.  While  the  Captain's  attention 
was  still  engaged  by  a  prolonged  refre.^ihment,  and  a  very 
tedious  examination,  in  Gaelic  and  English,  of  all  the 
prisoners,  and  every  other  witness  of  the  fatal  transaction, 
she  had  the  body  of  her  brother-in-law  undressed  and 
properly  disposed. — It  then  appeared,  from  the  crucifix, 
the  beads,  and  the  shirt  of  hair  which  he  wore  next  his 
person,  that  his  sense  of  guilt  had  induced  him  to  receive 
the  dogmata  of  a  religion,  which  pretends,  by  the  macera- 
tion of  the  body,  to  expiate  the  crimes  of  the  soul.  In 
the  packet  of  papers,  which  the  express  had  brought  to 
Sir  George  Staunton  from  Edinburgh,  and  which  Butler, 
authorized  by  his  connection  with  the  deceased,  did  not 
.scruple  to  examine,  he  found  new  and  astonishing  in- 
telligence, which  gave  him  reason  to  thank  God  he  had 
taken  that  measure. 

Ratcliffe,  to  whom  all  sorts  of  misdeeds  and  misdoers 
were  familiar,  instigated  by  the  promised  reward,  soon 
found  himself  in  a  condition  to  trace  the  infant  of  these 
unhappy  parents.  The  woman  to  whom  Meg  Murdockson 
had  sold  that  mo#5t  unfortunate  child,  had  made  it  the 
companion  of  her  wanderings  and  her  beggary,  until  he 
was  about  seven  or  eight  years  old,  when,  as  Ratcliffe 
learned  from  a  companion  of  hers,  then  in  the  Correction 
House  of  Edinburgh,  she  sold  him  in  her  turn  to  Donacha 
dhu  na  Dunaigh.  This  man,  to  whom  no  act  of  mischief 
was  unknown,  was  occasionally  an  agent  in  a  horrible  trade 
then  carried  on  betwixt  Scotland  and  America,  for  sup- 
plying the  plantations  with  servants,  by  means  of  kirlnap- 
pinff,  as  it  was  termed,  both  men  and  women,  but  es- 
])ecially  children  un<ler  age.  Hero  Ratcliffe  lost  sight  of 
the  boy.  but  had  no  doubt  but  Donacha  Dhu  could  give 
an  account  of  him.  Tlie  gentleman  of  the  law,  so  often, 
mentioned,  dosi)atc'hod  thenforo  an  express,  with  a  letter 
to  Sir  George  Staunton,  and  another  covering  a  warrant 
for  apprehension   of   Donacha,   with   instructions   to   the 


594  THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

Captain  of  Knockdunder  to  exert  his  utmost  energy  for 
that  purpose. 

Possessed  of  this  information,  and  with  a  mind  agitated 
by  the  most  gloomy  apprehensions,  Butler  now  joined  the 
Captain,  and  obtained  from  him  with  some  difficulty  a 
sight  of  the  examinations.  These,  with  a  few  questions 
to  the  elder  of  the  prisoners,  soon  confirmed  the  most 
dreadful  of  Butler's  anticipations.  We  give  the  heads  of 
the  information,  without  descending  into  minute  details. 

Donacha  Dhu  had  indeed  purchased  Effie's  unhappy 
child,  with  the  purpose  of  selling  it  to  the  American 
traders,  whom  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  supplying  with 
human  flesh.  But  no  opportunity  occurred  for  some  time; 
and  the  boy,  who  was  known  by  the  name  of  "The 
Whistler,"  made  some  impression  on  the  heart  and  affec- 
tions even  of  this  rude  savage,  perhaps  because  he  saw  in 
him  flashes  of  a  spirit  as  fierce  and  vindictive  as  his  own. 
When  Donacha  struck  or  threatened  him — a  very  com- 
mon occurrence — he  did  not  answer  with  complaints  and 
entreaties  like  other  children,  but  with  oaths  and  efforts 
at  revenge — he  had  all  the  wild  merit,  too,  by  which  Wog- 
garwolfe's  arrow-bearing  page  won  the  hard  heart  of  his 
master : 

Like  a  wild  cub,  rear'd  at  the  ruffian's  feet. 
He  could  say  biting  jests,  bold  ditties  sing, 
And  quaff  his  foaming  bumper  at  the  board, 
With  all  the  mockery  of  a  little  man.* 

In  short,  as  Donacha  Dhu  said,  the  Whistler  was  a 
bom  imp  of  Satan,  and  therefore  he  should  never  leave 
him.  Accordingly,  from  his  eleventh  year  forward,  he 
was  one  of  the  band,  and  often  engaged  in  acts  of  violence. 
The  last  of  these  was  more  immediately  occasioned  by  the 
researches  which  the  Whistler's  real  father  made  after  him 
whom  he  had  been  taught  to  consider  as  such.  Donacha 
Dhu's  fears  had  been  for  some  time  excited  by  the  strength 
of  the  means  which  began  now  to  be  employed  against  per- 
sons of  his  description.  He  was  sensible  he  existed  only 
by  the  precarious  indulgence  of  his  namesake,  Duncan  of 
Knockdunder,  who  was  used  to  boast  that  he  could  put 

*  Ethwald. 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAN  595 

him  down  or  string  him  up  when  he  had  a  mind.  He  re- 
solved to  leave  the  kinprdom  by  means  of  one  of  those 
sloops  which  were  enpapred  in  the  traffic  of  his  old  kidnap- 
ping- friends,  and  which  was  about  to  sail  for  America; 
but  he  was  desirous  first  to  strike  a  bold  stroke. 

The  ruffian's  cupidity  was  excited  by  the  intelligence, 
that  a  wealthy  Englishman  was  coming  to  the  Manse — 
he  had  neither  forgott<»n  the  Whistler's  report  of  the  gold 
he  had  seen  in  Lady  Staunton's  purse,  nor  his  old  vow  of 
revenge  against  the  minister;  and,  to  bring  the  whole  to 
a  point,  he  conceived  the  hope  of  appropriating  the 
money,  which,  according  to  the  general  report  of  the 
country,  the  minister  was  to  bring  from  Edinburgh  to  pay 
for  his  new  purchase.  While  he  was  considering  how  he 
might  best  accomplish  his  purpose,  he  received  the  intelli- 
gence from  one  quarter,  that  the  vessel  in  which  he  pro- 
posed to  sail  was  to  sail  immediately  from  Greenock; 
from  another,  that  the  minister  and  a  rich  English  lord, 
with  a  great  many  thousand  pounds,  were  expected  the 
next  evening  at  the  Manse;  and  from  a  third,  that  he 
must  consult  his  safety  by  leaving  his  ordinary  haunts  as 
soon  as  possible,  for  that  the  Captain  had  ordered  out  a 
party  to  scour  the  glens  for  him  at  break  of  day.  Donacha 
laid  his  plans  with  promptitude  and  decision.  He  em- 
barked with  the  Whistler  and  two  others  of  his  band 
(whom  by-the-bye,  he  meant  to  sell  to  the  kidnappers), 
and  set  sail  for  the  Caird's  Cove.  He  intended  to  lurk 
till  night-fall  in  the  wood  adjoining  to  this  place,  which 
he  thought  was  too  near  the  habitation  of  men  to  excite 
the  suspicion  of  L)uncan  Knock,  then  break  into  Butler's 
peaceful  habitation,  and  flesh  at  once  his  appetite  for 
plunder  and  revenge.  When  his  villainy  was  accomplished, 
his  boat  was  to  convey  him  to  the  vessel,  which,  accord- 
ing to  previous  agreement  with  the  master,  was  instantly 
to  .set  sail. 

This  desperate  design  would  probably  have  succeeded, 
but  for  the  ruffians  being  discovered  in  their  lurking- 
place  by  Sir  (Jcf»rge  Staunton  and  Butler,  in  their  acci- 
dental walk  from  the  Caird's  Cove  toward  the  Manse. 
Finding  himself  detected,  and  at  the  same. time  observing 
that  the  servant  carried  a  casket,  or  strong-box,  Donacha 
conceived  that  both  his  prize  and  his  victims  were  within 


596  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

his  power,  and  attacked  the  travellers  without  hesitation. 
Shots  were  fired  and  swords  drawn  on  both  sides;  Sir 
George  Staunton  offered  the  bravest  resistance,  till  he  fell, 
as  there  was  too  much  reason  to  believe,  by  the  hand  of  a 
son,  so  long  sought,  and  now  at  length  so  unhappily  met. 

While  Butler  was  half-stunned  with  this  intelligence, 
the  hoarse  voice  of  Ivnockdunder  added  to  his  consterna- 
tion. 

"I  will  take  the  liperty  to  take  down  the  pell-ropes,  Mr. 
Putler,  as  I  must  pe  taking  order  to  hang  these  idle  people 
up  to-morrow  morning,  to  teach  them  more  consideration 
in  their  doings  in  future." 

Butler  entreated  him  to  remember  the  act  abolishing  the 
heritable  jurisdictions,  and  that  he  ought  to  send  them  to 
Glasgow  or  Inverary,  to  be  tried  by  the  Circuit.  Duncan 
scorned  the  proposal. 

"The  Jurisdiction  Act,"  he  said,  "had  nothing  to  do  put 
with  the  rebels,  and  specially  not  with  Argyle's  country; 
and  he  would  hang  the  men  up  all  three  in  one  row  before 
coot  Leddy  Staunton's  windows,  which  would  be  a  creat 
comfort  to  her  in  the  morning  to  see  that  the  coot  gentle- 
man, her  husband,  had  been  suitably  afenged." 

And  the  utmost  length  that  Butler's  most  earnest  entreat- 
ies could  prevail  was,  that  he  would  reserve  "the  twa  pig 
carles  for  the  Circuit,  but  as  for  him  they  ca'd  the  Fustier, 
he  should  try  how  he  could  fustle  in  a  swinging  tow,  for 
it  suldna  be  said  that  a  shentleman,  friend  of  the  Duke, 
was  killed  in  his  country,  and  his  people  didna  take  at 
least  twa  lives  for  ane." 

Butler  entreated  him  to  spare  the  victim  for  his  soul's 
sake.  But  Knockdunder  answered,  "that  the  soul  of  such 
a  scum  had  been  long  the  tefil's  property,  and  that,  Cot 
tam !  he  was  determined  to  gif  the  tefil  his  due." 

All  persuasion  was  in  vain,  and  Duncan  issued  his 
mandate  for  execution  on  the  succeeding  morning.  The 
child  of  guilt  and  misery  was  separated  from  his  com- 
panions, strongly  pinioned,  and  committed  to  a  separate 
room,  of  which  the  Captain  kept  the  key. 

In  the  silence  of  the  night,  however,  Mrs.  Butler  arose, 
resolved,  if  possible,  to  avert,  at  least  to  delay,  the  fate 
which  hung  over  her  nephew,  especially  if,  upon  convers- 
ing with  him,  she  should  see  any  hope  of  his  being  brought 


THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN  597 

|to  better  temper.  She  had  a  master-key  that  opened  every 
lock  in  the  house;  and  at  midnight,  when  all  was  still, 
she  stood  before  the  eyes  of  the  astonished  younfi;  savage, 
as,  hard  bound  with  cords,  he  lay,  like  a  sheep  designed  for 
slaughter,  upon  a  quantity  of  the  refuse  of  flax  which 
tilled  a  corner  in  the  apartment.  Amid  features  sunburnt, 
tawny,  grimed  with  dirt,  and  obscured  by  his  shaggy  hair 
of  a  rusted  black  color,  Jeanie  tried  in  vain  to  trace  the 
likeness  of  either  of  his  very  handsome  parents.  Yet  how 
could  she  refuse  compassion  to  a  creature  so  young  and 
so  wretched, — so  much  more  wretched  than  even  he  him- 
self could  be  aware  of,  since  the  murder  he  had  too  prob- 
ably committed  with  his  own  hand,  but  in  which  he  had 
at  any  rate  participated,  was  in  fact  a  parricide.  She 
placed  food  on  a  table  near  him,  raised  him,  and  slacked 
the  cords  on  his  arms,  so  as  to  permit  him  to  feed  himself. 
He  stretched  out  his  hands,  still  smeared  with  blood,  per- 
haps that  of  his  father,  and  he  ate  voraciously  and  in 
silence. 

"What  is  your  first  name?"  said  Jeanie,  by  way  of 
opening  the  conversation. 

"The  Whistler." 

"But  your  Christian  name,  by  which  you  were  bap- 
tized ?" 

"I  never  was  baptized  that  I  know  of — I  have  no  other 
name  than  the  Whistler." 

"Poor  unhappy  abandoned  lad !"  said  Jeanie.  "What 
would  ye  do  if  you  could  escape  from  this  place,  and  the 
death  you  are  to  die  to-morrow  morning?" 

"Join  wi'  Rob  Roy,  or  wi'  Sergeant  More  Cameron" 
(noted  freebooters  at  that  time),  "and  revenge  Donacha's 
death  on  all  and  sundry." 

"O  ye  unhappy  boy,"  said  Jeanie,  "do  ye  ken  what  will 
come  o'  ye  when  ye  die?" 

"I  shall  neither  feel  cauld  nor  hunger  more,"  said  the 
youth  doggedly. 

"To  let  him  be  execute  in  this  dreadful  state  of  mind 
would  be  to  destroy  baith  body  and  soul — and  to  let  him 
gang  I  dare  not — what  will  be  done  ? — But  he  is  my  sister's 
son — my  own  nephew — our  flesh  and  blood — and  his  hands 
and  feet  are  yerked  as  tight  as  cords  can  be  drawn. — 
Whistler,  do  the  cords  hurt  you  ?" 


598  THE    HEAKT    OF    MID-LOTHIAN 

"Very  much." 

"But,  if  I  were  to  slacken  them,  you  would  harm  me  ?" 
"No,  I  would  not — you  never  harmed  me  or  mine." 
There  may  be  good  in,  him  yet,  thought  Jeanie;  I  will 
try  fair  play  with  him. 

She  cut  his  bonds — he  stood  upright,  looked  round  with 
a  laugh  of  wild  exultation,  clapped  his  hands  together, 
and  sprung  from  the  ground,  as  if  in  transport  on  finding 
himself  at  liberty.  He  looked  so  wild,  that  Jeanie 
trembled  at  what  she  had  done. 

"Let  me  out,"  said  the  young  savage. 

"I   wunna,   unless   you   promise " 

"Then  I'll  make  you  glad  to  let  us  both  out." 
He  seized  the  lighted  candle  and  threw  it  among  the 
flax,  which  was  instantly  in  a  flame.  Jeanie  screamed, 
and  ran  out  of  the  room;  the  prisoner  rushed  past  her, 
threw  open  a  window  in  the  passage,  jumped  into  the 
garden,  sprung  over  its  enclosure,  bounded  through  the 
woods  like  a  deer,  and  gained  the  sea-shore.  Meantime, 
the  fire  was  extinguished,  but  the  prisoner  was  sought  in 
vain.  As  Jeanie  kept  her  own  secret,  the  share  she  had 
in  his  escape  was  not  discovered ;  but  they  learned  his  fate 
some  time  afterward — it  was  as  wild  as  his  life  had  hither- 
to been. 

The  anxious  inquiries  of  Butler  at  length  learned,  that 
the  youth  had  gained  the  ship  in  which  his  master,  Dona- 
cha,  had  designed  to  embark.  But  the  avaricious  ship- 
master, inured  by  his  evil  trade  to  every  species  of 
treachery,  and  disappointed  of  the  rich  booty  which 
Donacha  had  proposed  to  bring  aboard,  secured  the  person 
of  the  fugitive,  and  having  transported  him  to  America, 
sold  him  as  a  slave,  or  indented  servant,  to  a  Virginian 
planter,  far  up  the  country.  When  these  tidings  reached 
Butler,  he  sent  over  to  America  a  sufficient  sum  to  redeem 
the  lad  from  slavery,  with  instructions  that  measures 
should  be  taken  for  improving  his  mind,  restraining  his 
evil  propensities  and  encouraging  whatever  good  might 
appear  in  his  character.  But  this  aid  came  too  late.  The 
young  man  had  headed  a  conspiracy  in  which  his  inhuman 
master  was  put  to  death,  and  had  then  fled  to  the  next " 
tribe  of  wild  Indians.  He  was  never  more  heard  of;  and 
it  may  therefore  be  presumed  that  he  lived  and  died  after 


THE    HEART    OF    MID-LOTHIAX  599 

the  manner  of  that  savape  people,  with  whom  hia  previous 
habits  had  well  fitted  him  to  associate. 

All  hopes  of  the  young  man's  reformation  being  now 
ended,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Butler  thought  it  could  serve  no 
purpose  to  explain  to  Lady  Staunton  a  history  so  full 
of  horror.  She  remained  their  guest  more  than  a  year, 
during  the  greater  part  of  which  period  her  grief  was 
excessive.  In  the  latter  months,  it  assumed  the  appearance 
of  listlessness  and  low  spirits,  which  the  monotony  of  her 
sister's  quiet  establishment  afforded  no  means  of  dissipat- 
ing. Effie,  from  her  earliest  youth,  was  never  formed  for 
a  quiet  low  content.  Far  different  from  her  sister,  she 
required  the  dissipation  of  society  to  divert  her  sorrow, 
or  enhance  her  joy.  She  left  the  seclusion  of  Knocktar- 
litie  with  tears  of  sincere  affection,  and  after  heaping  its 
inmates  with  all  she  could  think  of  that  might  be  valuable 
in  their  eyes.  But  she  did  leave  it ;  and  when  the  anguish 
of  the  parting  was  over,  her  departure  was  a  relief  to 
both  sisters. 

The  family  at  the  Manse  of  Knocktarlitie,  in  their 
own  quiet  happiness,  heard  of  the  well-dowered  and  beau- 
tiful Lady  Staunton  resuming  her  place  in  the  fashion- 
able world.  They  learned  it  by  more  substantial  proofs, 
for  David  received  a  commission;  and  as  the  military 
spirit  of  Bible  Butler  seemed  to  have  revived  in  him,  his 
g-ood  behavior  qualified  the  envy  of  five  hundred  young 
Highland  cadets,  "come  of  good  houses,"  who  were  as- 
tonished at  the  rapidity  of  his  promotion.  Reuben  fol- 
lowed the  law,  and  rose  more  slowly,  yet  surely.  Euphe- 
mia  Butler,  whose  fortune,  augmented  by  her  aunt's 
generosity,  and  added  to  her  own  beauty,  rendered  her  no 
small  prize,  married  a  Highland  laird,  who  never  asked 
the  name  of  her  grandfather,  and  was  loaded  on  the  occa- 
sion with  presents  from  Lady  Staunton,  which  made  her 
the  envy  of  all  the  beauties  in  Dumbarton  and  Argyle- 
shires. 

After  blazing  nearly  ten  years  in  the  fashionable  world, 
and  hiding,  like  many  of  her  compeers,  an  aching  heart 
with  a  gay  demeanor; — after  declining  repeated  offers  of 
the  most  respectable  kind  for  a  second  matrimonial  en- 
gagement, Lady  Staunton  betrayed  the  inward  wound 
by  retiring  to  the  Continent,  and  taking  up  her  abode  in 


600  THE   HEART    OF   MID-LOTHIAN 

ilie  convent  where  she  had  received  her  education.  She 
never  took  the  veil,  but  lived  and  died  in  severe  seclusion, 
and  in  the  practice  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion,  in  all 
its  formal  observances,  vigils,  and  austerities. 

Jeanie  had  so  much  of  her  father's  spirit  as  to  sorrow 
bitterly  for  this  apostacy,  and  Butler  joined  in  her  regret. 
"Yet  any  religion,  however  imperfect,"  he  said,  "was  bet- 
ter than  cold  scepticism,  or  the  hurrying  din  of  dissipa- 
tion, which  fills  the  ears  of  worldlings,  until  they  care  for 
none  of  these  things." 

Meanwhile,  happy  in  each  other,  in  the  prosperity  of 
their  family,  and  the  love  and  honor  of  all  who  knew 
them,  this  simple  pair  lived  beloved,  and  died  lamented. 

Reader — This  tale  will  not  be  told  in  vain,  if  it  shall  be 
found  to  illustrate  the  great  truth,  that  guilt,  though  it 
may  attain  temporal  splendor,  can  never  confer  real  happi- 
ness ;  that  the  evil  consequences  of  our  crimes  long  survive 
their  commission,  and,  like  the  ghosts  of  the  murdered, 
forever  haunt  the  steps  of  the  malefactor;  and  that  the 
paths  of  virtue,  though  seldom  those  of  worldly  greatness, 
are  always  those  of  pleasantness  and  peace. 

L'Envoy,  by  Jedediah  Cleishbothan 

Thus  concludeth  the  Tale  of  "The  Heart  of  Mid- 
Lothian/'  which  hath  filled  more  pages  than  I  opined. 
The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian  is  now  no  more,  or  rather  it 
is  transferred  to  the  extreme  side  of  the  city,  even  as  the 
Sieur  Jean  Baptiste  Poquelin  hath  it,  in  his  pleasant 
comedy  called  Le  Medecin  Malgre  lui,  where  the  simulated 
doctor  wittily  replieth  to  a  charge  that  he  had  placed  the 
heart  on  the  right  side,  instead  of  the  left,  "Cela  etoit 
autrefois  ainsi,  mais  nous  avons  change  tout  cela."  Of 
which  witty  speech,  if  any  reader  shall  demand  the  pur- 
port, I  have  only  to  respond,  that  I  teach  the  French  as 
well  as  the  Classical  tongues,  at  the  easy  rate  of  five 
shillings  per  quarter,  as  my  advertisements  are  periodic- 
ally making  known  to  the  public. 


NOTES 


Note  I.,  p.  78. — ToLBooTH  of  Edinbubgh 

The  ancient  Tolbooth  of  Edinbnrph,  situated  and  described  as 
in  the  last  chapter,  was  built  by  tlie  citizens  in  1561,  and 
destined  for  the  acconiniodation  of  Parliament,  as  well  as  of 
the  High  Courts  of  Justice;  and  at  the  same  time  for  the  con- 
finement of  prisoners  for  debt,  or  on  criminal  charges.  Since 
the  ypar  1040.  when  the  present  Parliament  House  was  erected, 
the  Tolbooth  was  occupied  as  a  prison  onl}'.  Gloomy  and  dis- 
mal as  it  was,  the  situation  in  tiie  centre  of  the  High  Street 
rendered  it  so  particularly  well-aired,  that  wlien  the  plague 
laid  waste  the  city  in  1645,  it  affected  none  within  these  melan- 
choly jirocincts.  The  Tolbooth  was  removed,  with  the  mass  of 
buil(iin<:s  in  wliich  it  was  incorporated,  in  the  autumn  of  the 
year  1817.  At  that  time  the  kindness  of  his  old  schoolfellow 
and  friend,  Rolx-rt  Johnstone,  Esquire,  then  Dean  of  Guild  of 
the  city,  with  the  liberal  acquiescence  of  the  persons  who  had 
contracted  for  the  work,  procured  for  the  author  of  Waverley 
the  stones  which  composed  the  gateway,  together  with  the 
door,  and  its  ponderous  fastenings,  which  he  employed  in  deco- 
rating the  entrance  of  his  kitchen-court  at  Abbotsford.  "To 
Buch  base  oflices  may  we  return."  The  application  of  these 
relics  of  the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian  to  serve  as  the  postern  gate 
t  to  a  coujt  of  modern  oflices,  may  be  justly  ridiculed  as  whim- 
sical; but  yet  it  is  not  witiiout  interest,  that  we  see  the  gate- 
way through  which  so  much  of  the  stormy  politics  of  a  rude 
age,  and  the  vice  and  misery  of  later  times,  had  found  their 
passage,  now  occupied  in  the  service  of  rural  economy.  Last 
year,  to  complete  the  change,  a  tomtit  was  pleased  to  build 
her  nest  within  the  lock  of  the  Tolbooth, — a  strong  temptation 
to  have  committed  a  sonnet,  had  tiie  author,  like  Tony  Lump- 
kin, been  in  a  concatenation  accordingly. 

It  is  worth  mentioning,  that  an  act  of  beneficence  celebrated 
the  demolition  of  the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian.  A  subscription, 
raised  and  applied  by  the  worthy  Magistrate  above  mentioned, 
procured  the  manumission  of  most  of  the  unfortunate  debtors 
confined  in  the  old  jail,  so  that  there  were  few  or  none  trans- 
ferred to  the  new  place  of  confinement. 

601 


602  NOTES 

Note  II.,  p.  120. — Carspharx  John 

John  Semple,  called  Carspharn  John,  because  minister  of  the 
parish  in  Galloway  so  called,  was  a  Presbyterian  clergyman  of 
singular  piety  and  great  zeal,  of  w^hom  Patrick  Walker  records 
the  following  passage:  "That  night  after  his  wife  died,  he 
spent  the  whole  ensuing  night  in  prayer  and  meditation  in  his 
garden.  The  next  morning,  one  of  his  elders  coming  to  see  him, 
and  lamenting  his  great  loss  and  want  of  rest,  he  replied, — 'I 
declare  I  have  not,  all  night,  had  one  thought  of  the  death  of 
my  wife,  I  have  been  so  taken  up  in  meditating  on  heavenly 
things.  I  have  been  this  night  on  the  banks  of  Ulai,  plucking 
an  apjjle  here  and  there.' " — Walker's  Remarkable  Passages  of 
the  Life  and  Death  of  Mr.  John  Semple. 

Xote  III.,  p.   129. — Peter  Walker 

This  personage,  whom  it  would  be  base  ingratitude  in  the 
author  to  pass  over  without  some  notice,  was  by  far  the  most 
zealous  and  faithful  collector  and  recorder  of  the  actions  and 
opinions  of  the  Cameronians.  He  resided,  while  stationary,  at 
the  Bristo  Port  of  Edinburgh,  but  was  by  trade  an  itinerant 
merchant  or  pedlar,  which  profession  he  seems  to  have  exer- 
cised in  Ireland  as  well  as  Britain.  He  composed  biographical 
notices  of  Alexander  Peden,  John  Semple,  John  Welwood,  and 
Richard  Cameron,  all  ministers  of  the  Cameronian  persuasion, 
to  which  the  last-mentioned  member  gave  the  name. 

It  is  from  such  tracts  as  these,  written  in  the  sense,  feeling, 
and  spirit  of  the  sect,  and  not  from  the  sophisticated  narratives 
of  a  later  period,  that  the  real  character  of  the  persecuted 
class  is  to  be  gathered.  Walker  writes  with  a  simplicity  which 
sometimes  slides  into  the  burlesque,  and  sometimes  attains  a 
tone  of  simple  pathos,  but  always  expressing  the  mos^t  daring 
confidence  in  his  own  correctness  of  creed  and  sentiments,  some- 
times with  narrow-minded  and  disgusting  bigotry.  His  turn 
for  the  marvellous  was  that  of  his  time  and  sect;  but  there 
is  little  room  to  doubt  his  veracity  concerning  whatever  he 
quotes  on  his  own  knowledge.  His  small  tracts  now  bring  a 
very  high  price,  especially  the  earlier  and  authentic  editions. 

The  tirade  against  dancing,  pronounced  by  David  Deans,  is, 
as  intimated  in  the  text,  partly  borrowed  from  Peter  Walker. 
He  notices,  as  a  foul  reproach  upon  the  name  of  Richard 
Cameron,  that  his  memory  was  vituperated  "by  pipers  and 
fiddlers  playing  the  Cameronian  march — carnal  vain  springs, 
which  too  many  professors  of  religion  dance  to;  a  practice  un- 
becoming the  professors  of  Christianity  to  dance  to  any  spring, 
but  somewhat  more  to  this.     Whatever,"  he  proceeds,  "be  the 


NOTES  603 

(iiiany  foul  blots  recorded  of  the  saints  in  Scripture,  none  of 
tlu-m  is  charged  with  this  regular  fit  of  distraction.  We  find 
lit  has  been  practised  by  the  wicked  and  profane,  as  the  dancing 
I  at  that  brutish,  base  action  of  the  calf-making;  and  it  had  been 
gooil  for  that  unhappy  lass,  who  danced  off  the  head  of  John 
the  Baptist,  that  she  had  been  born  a  cripple,  and  never  drawn 
a  limb  to  her.  Historians  say,  that  her  sin  was  written  upon 
her  judgment,  who  some  time  thereafter  was  dancing  upon  the 
ice,  and  it  broke,  and  snapt  the  head  off  her;  her  head  danced 
above,  and  her  feet  beneath.  There  is  ground  to  think  and 
conclude,  that  when  tlie  world's  wickedness  was  great,  dancing 
at  tlieir  marriages  was  practised;  but  when  the  heavens  above, 
and  tlie  earth  beneath,  were  let  loose  upon  them  witli  that 
overflowing  flood,  their  mirth  was  soon  stayed;  and  when  the 
Lord  in  holy  justice  rained  fire  and  brimstone  from  heaven 
upon  that  wicked  people  and  city  Sodom,  enjoying  fulness  of 
brtad  and  idleness,  tlieir  fiddle-strings  and  hands  went  all  in  a 
fianie:  and  the  whole  people  in  thirty  miles  of  length,  and  t^n 
of  breadth,  as  historians  say,  were  all  made  to  fry  in  their 
skins:  and  at  the  end,  whoever  are  giving  in  marriages  and 
dancing  when  all  will  go  in  a  flame,  they  will  quickly  change 
their  note. 

*T  have  often,  wondered  thorow  my  life,  how  any  that  ever 
knew  what  it  was  to  bow  a  knee  in  earnest  to  pray,  durst 
crook  a  hough  to  fyke  and  fling  at  a  piper's  and  fiddler's 
springs.  1  bless  the  Lord  that  ordered  my  lot  so  in  my  dancing 
days,  that  made  the  fear  of  the  bloody  rope  and  bullets  to  my 
neck  and  head,  the  pain  of  boots,  thumikens,  and  irons,  cold 
and  hunger,  wetness  and  weariness,  to  stop  the  lightness  of  my 
head,  and  the  wantonness  of  my  feet.  What  the  never-to-be- 
forgotten  Man  of  God,  John  Knox,  said  to  Queen  Mary,  when 
she  gave  him  that  sharp  challenge,  which  would  strike  our 
mean-spirit<'(l,  tongue-tacked  ministers  dumb,  for  his  giving 
public  faithful  warning  of  the  danger  of  the  church  and  nation, 
through  her  marrying  the  Dauphine  of  France,  when  he  left  her 
bubbling  and  greeting,  and  cajne  to  an  outer  court,  where  her 
Lady  diaries  \\ere  fyking  an<l  dancing,  he  said,  '(J  brave  ladies, 
a  brave  world,  if  it  would  last,  and  heaven  at  the  hinder  end! 
But  fye  upon  the  knave  Death,  that  will  seize  upon  those 
bodies  of  yours;  and  where  will  all  your  fiddling  and  flinging 
be  then?'  Dancing  being  such  a  common  evil,  especially 
amongst  young  professors,  that  all  the  lovers  of  the  Lord  should 
hate,  has  caused  me  to  insist  the  more  upon  it,  especially  that 
foolish  spring  the  ("ameronian  march!" — Life  and  Death  of 
three  fawonff  uorthirs.  dr.,  hi/  I'rtrr  Walk<7\   I'imo,  p.  51). 

It  may  here  bo  observed,  that  some  of  the  milder  class  of 
Caraeronians  made  a  distinction  between  the  two  sexes  dancing 


«0!(  XOTES 

"s^iKr&tf^lT.  and  &I)o^^  fl{  it  »  m  liMlQ^y  waM.  sdt  mSnrfiil 
«K«(rc39f .  but  'V'heii.  men  mA  wums  iwftn^M  aa  sffdiHt.  It  w&s 
tb«m  called  prommaammm  dsacw^  ami  'WPadwrefl  &$  a  aouidkl- 
cms  emomtitT. 

iCirte  rr..  j\.   144. — ^Mtschjlt^s  Caiks- 

pnnpeivf»d  a  luttrt'  >  •wife,  entered  into  &  cfmsprrarx 

li  ( repea.tt»dlT    :  i    in    ?                                     \;J 

pv»-  -  obe  tinH^^    br  -wi.:;     .  tonphel]    ^....v     ..».                     - 

ti»t  V  r.r.n's  rfuiracter.  sp  as  tr  enaWf  li/Iuseliat,  on 

tvv  -  "  ■  iiin   a    i"                           li**r.     »-'        ■  .        ■ 

m-  -. 

Tikts  pnrpnse  i 

:fiTth^"-     -  --    ■-  .....    . 

r: 

br   PI 

trt-v 

In  nieni 
PC-'-      ■■•■ 

rtmsi  jj 


uat  jf 

'If 

t!re  t{H> 

"> 

.  h.    rrnf' 

'UI 

h 

!:» 

acv,     pwr 

It"  deed,  a 

~  now  a]- 

B   tm  liUf 

t. 

p.'  :      ..t                                                -u 

V'  in  I>UT                                                      w 

s:  :  y 

ti  :.ti 

ti-  ■     u 

Et:  •  "ri. 

nHiui.  tttti.  n*  •.,  IF  Ht                                        JT  pojiuiarh . 

bin    m  B   k!ci-    ..     .     ption.  lu    .... ..;.v    y.-fHm,  irr  Bma.tl 

qiuintrt^  «nd   hKniiiul.  psyahk'   m  Ihirbi^'  ciofs.   &»   nHtncwn 
muhuTc 

l?ote  TI..  p.  IM. — Ijsa:  Pajut  Ik»T  iir  liEnm 

Th»  Ic^rmui  wur  in  fiirmgr  cditiniK'  ma!R:TUCK]te}T  «Rtd  ^  ^k- 
iot  in  Dttster'^  'Hi^  iicld  vS  Bpirjt^*' ;  but  m,  in  iuot.  1at  \»  immi 


NOTES 


eo6 


in  "PmadmammiwaL,  or  th*>  I>vir<«  Clnyitcr;   b«ing  »  farther 
bluw  t<>  MiMltrn  SiuiilnrFiRm."  by   Rirhar'i   Barton.  0«»ntl«nian. 

limn,    IM**!       ' '•••  work  in   injMTjJnHl   to   Dr.    H#»nry    Mor«».     Th»» 
4t-.  rv      *  "A    r*»niark;tMM    p»M«»nkt«»   of    oni»    UAnipW    th»* 

[•  i  worthy  fn*»nii 

<  .ami",   Ami   14 


for  - 
kintf-: 
a  ('IT' 
for  ■ 
hi  fii'  ' 
th.'  - 
P.. 


•!ir4  <inrf»,  havintf 

whirh    in   npar 


mi*  «<> 


'^h.it;  '!»>tainp<l  him 

:h.   in   the 

-  '"•'  "f^  »ncf»  at 

•  winfl 

of 

'7 

►»r 

wav.  §h«  tolil  ni«>  th»*n*  wn« 

«y 


r 

n-  • 

•iriaauniti 

him,  wbi  ' 

mr,  i»4  w  V  mftn  ; 

I    h.-!»»     •  ••-    i»   n*,,  i. 

yon«l'  ir  to  t)i' 

antl    ' 

th»T» 

and   w*mumy   ami    tii> 

inii.i*ii'  hi'<»i.f»'H   rnv  ilrn 

n  ami  many  tiniM<i  w<>  af 


%♦» 
fl 

•*. 
nitfht 

:h 
>u 
•n 

of 
of 


ftrii 
'     I 


ml.'     I 


l»ow  I 


lo   whirii 

»   ♦'hrtf   ''P'-nmi 

in 

in 

riMiu    IT  -i**, 

4a w  tl'  of 


606  NOTES 

them  sitting  on  my  shoulders;  that  both  would  be  very  hand- 
some women. 

"As  he  was  thus  speaking,  a  woman  of  the  neighborhood, 
coming  into  the  room,  demanded  of  him  what  her  fortune  should 
be?  He  told  her  that  she  had  two  bastards  before  she  was 
married;  which  put  her  in  such  a  rage,  that  she  desired  not  to 
hear  the  rest.  The  woman  of  the  house  told  me  that  all  the 
people  in  Scotland  could  not  keep  him  from  the  rendezvous  on 
Thursday  night;  upon  which,  by  promising  him  some  more 
money,  I  got  a  promise  of  him  to  meet  me  at  the  same  place, 
in  the  afternoon  of  the  Thursday  following,  and  so  dismissed 
him  at  that  time.  The  boy  came  again  at  the  place  and  time 
appointed,  and  I  had  prevailed  with  some  friends  to  continue 
with  me,  if  possible,  to  prevent  his  moving  that  night;  he  was 
placed  between  us,  and  answered  many  questions  without  offer- 
ing to  go  from  us.  until  about  eleven  of  the  clock,  he  was  got 
away  unperceived  of  the  company:  but  I  suddenly  missing 
him,  hasted  to  the  door,  and  took  hold  of  him,  and  so  returned 
him  into  the  same  room:  we  all  watched  him,  and  on  a  sudden 
he  was  again  got  out  of  the  doors.  I  followed  him  close,  and 
he  made  a  noise  in  tlie  street  as  if  he  had  been  set  upon;  but 
from  that  time  I  could  never  see  him.  Geobge  Burton." 


Note  VII.,  p.   186. — IxTERCorBSE  of  the  Covenantees  with 
THE  Invisible  Wobld 

The  gloomy,  dangerous,  and  constant  wanderings  of  the  per- 
secuted sect  of  Cameronians.  naturally  led  to  their  entertaining 
with  peculiar  credulity  the  belief,  that  they  were  sometimes 
persecuted,  not  only  by  the  wrath  of  men,  but  by  the  secret 
wiles  and  open  terrors  of  Satan.  In  fact,  a  flood  could  not 
happen,  a  horse  cast  a  shoe,  or  any  other  the  most  ordinary 
interruption  thwart  a  minister's  wish  to  perform  service  at  a 
particular  spot,  than  the  accident  was  imputed  to  the  imme- 
diate agency  of  fiends.  The  encounter  of  Alexander  Peden  with 
the  Devil  in  the  cave,  and  that  of  John  Semple  with  the  demon 
in  the  ford,  are  given  by  Peter  Walker,  almost  in  the  language 
of  the  text. 


Xote  VIII.,  p.  191. — Child  Mubdee 

The  Scottish  Statute  Book,  anno  1690,  chapter  21,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  great  increase  of  the  crime  of  child  murder, 
both  from  the  temptations  to  commit  the  offence  and  the 
difficulty  of  discovery,  enacted  a  certain  set  of  presumptions, 
which,  in  the  absence  of  direct  proof,  the  jury  were  directed  to 


NOTES  607 

I  receive  as  evidence  of  tlie  crime  havinpf  actually  been  coin- 
niitted.  The  circumstances  selected  for  this  purpose  were,  that 
the  woman  should  have  concealed  her  situation  durin<j  the 
whole  period  of  prejjnancy:  that  she  should  not  have  called 
for  help  at  her  delivery;  and  that,  cond)ine(l  with  these  grounds 
of  suspicion,  the  child  should  be  either  found  dead  or  be  alto- 
pether  missing,  ^lany  persons  sufTered  death  during  the  last 
century  under  this  severe  act.  But  during  the  author's  memory 
a  more  lenient  course  was  followed,  and  the  female  accused 
under  the  act.  and  conscious  of  no  competent  defence,  usually 
lodged  a  petition  to  the  Court  of  Justiciary,  denying,  for  form's 
sake,  the  tenor  of  the  indictment,  but  stating,  that  as  her  good 
name  had  been  destroyed  by  the  charge,  she  was  willing  to 
submit  to  sentence  of  banishment,  to  which  the  crown  counsel 
usually  consented.  This  lenity  in  practice,  and  the  compara- 
tive infrequency  of  the  crime  since  the  doom  of  public  ecclesi- 
astical penance  has  been  generally  dispensed  with,  have  led  to 
the  abolition  of  the  statute  of  William  and  Mary,  which  is  now 
replaced  by  another,  imposing  banishment  in  those  circum- 
stances in  which  the  crime  was  formerly  capital.  This  altera- 
tion took  place  in  1803. 

Note  IX.,  T).  221. — Calumniator  of  the  Fair  Sex 

The  journal  of  Graves,  a  Bow  Street  officer,  despatched  to 
Holland  to  obtain  the  surrender  of  the  unfortunate  William 
Broflie,  bears  a  r<'lloction  on  the  ladies  somewhat  like  that  put 
in  the  mouth  of  the  ])()lice-()llicer  Sliarpitlaw.  It  had  been 
found  ditlieult  to  identify  the  unhapi)y  criminal;  and,  when  a 
Scotch  gentleman  of  respectability  had  seemed  disposed  to 
give  evidence  on  the  point  required,  his  son-in-law,  a  clergy- 
man in  Amsterdam,  and  his  daughter,  were  suspected  by 
Graves  to  have  used  arguments  with  the  witness  to  dissuade 
him  from  giving  his  testimony.  On  which  subject  the  journal 
of  the  liow  Street  oflieer  proceeds  thus: 

"Saw  then  a  manife-^t  reluctance   in  Mr.  ,   and   had   no 

doubt  the  daughter  and  j)arH<)n  would  endeavor  to  persuade 
him  to  decline  troubling  himself  in  tlie  matter,  but  judged  he 
could  not  go  back  from  what  he  had  said  to  Mr.  Rich. — Nota 
Bene.    No  mischief  but  a  icoman  or  a  priest  in  it — here  both." 

Note  X.,  p.  232. — Sir  William  Dick  of  1?raii) 

This  gentleman  formed  a  striking  example  of  the  instability 
of  human  prosperity.  He  was  once  tlie  wealthiest  m;in  «)f  his 
time  in  Scotland,  a  merchant  in  an  exUmsiv*-  line  of  commerce, 
and    a    farmer    of   the    jiublic    revenue,    insomuch    that,    about 


608  NOTES 

1640,  he  estimated  his  fortune  at  two  hundred  thousand  pounds 
sterling.  Sir  William  Dick  was  a  zealous  Covenanter;  and  in 
the  memorable  year  1641,  he  lent  the  Scottish  Convention  of 
Estates  one  hundred  thousand  merks  at  once,  and  thereby 
enabled  them  to  support  and  pay  their  army,  which  must 
otherwise  have  broken  to  pieces.  He  afterwards  advanced 
£20,000  for  the  service  of  King  Charles,  during  the  usurpa- 
tion; and  having,  by  owning  the  royal  cause,  provoked  the  dis- 
pleasure of  the  ruling  party,  he  was  fleeced  of  more  money, 
amounting  in  all  to  £65,000  sterling. 

Being  in.  this  manner  reduced  to  indigence,  he  went  to  Lon- 
don to  try  to  recover  some  part  of  the  sums  which  had  been 
lent  on  government  security.  Instead  of  receiving  any  satis- 
faction, the  Scottish  Croesus  was  thrown  into  prison,  in  which 
he  died,  19th  December,  1655.  It  is  said  his  death  was 
hastened  by  the  want  of  common  necessaries.  But  this  state- 
ment is  somewhat  exaggerated,  if  it  be  true,  as  is  commonly 
said,  that  though  he  was  not  supplied  with  bread,  he  had 
plenty  of  pie-crust,  thence  called  "Sir  William  Dick's  neces- 
sity.''' 

The  changes  of  fortune  are  commemorated  in  a  folio  pam- 
phlet entitled,  "The  lamentable  state  of  the  deceased  Sir 
William  Dick."  It  contains  several  copper-plates,  one  repre- 
senting Sir  William  on  horseback,  and  attended  with  guards 
as  Lord  Provost  of  Edinburgh,  superintending  the  unloading 
of  one  of  his  rich  argosies.  A  second  exhibiting  him  as  ar- 
rested, and  in  the  hands  of  the  bailiffs.  A  third  presents  him 
dead  in  prison.  The  tract  is  esteemed  highly  valuable  by 
collectors  of  prints.  The  only  copy  I  ever  saw  upon  sale,  was 
rated  at   £30. 

Note  XL,  p.  237. — Meeting  at  Talla-Lixns 

This  remarkable  convocation  took  place  upon  I5t1i  June,  1682, 
and  an  account  of  its  confused  and  divisive  proceedings  may  be 
found  in  Michael  Shield's  Faithful  Contendings  Displayed,  Glas- 
gow, 1780,  p.  21.  It  affords  a  singular  and  melancholy  exam- 
ple how  much  a  metaphysical  and  polemical  spirit  had  crept 
in  amongst  these  unhappy  sufferers,  since,  amid  so  many  real 
injuries  which  they  had  to  sustain,  they  were  disposed  to  add 
disagreement  and  disunion  concerning  the  character  and 
extent  of  such  as  were  only  imaginary. 

Note  XII..  p.  288. — Doomster,  or  Dempster,  of  Court 

The  name  of  this  officer  is  equivalent  to  the  pronouncer  of 
doom  or  sentence.     In  this  comprehensive  sense,  the  Judges  of 


NOTES  609 

the  Islp  of  M.in  were  c.illed  Dempsters.  But  in  Scotland  the 
word  was  lonp  restricted  to  the  designation  of  an  oflicial  per- 
son, whose  duty  it  was  to  recite  the  sentence  after  it  had  been 
pronounced  by  tlie  Court,  and  recorded  by  the  clerk;  on  which 
occasion  the  Dempster  legalized  it  by  the  words  of  form,  "And 
this  I  pronoiuuc  for  doom."  For  a  length  of  years,  the  office, 
as  mentioned  in  the  text,  was  held  in  comineiulam  with  that 
of  the  executioner;  for  when  this  odious  but  necessary  officer 
of  justice  received  his  appointment,  he  petitioned  the  Court  of 
Justiciary  to  be  received  as  their  Dempster,  which  was  granted 
as  a  matter  of  course. 

The  production  of  the  executioner  in  open  court,  and  in 
presence  of  the  wretched  criminal,  had  something  in  it  hideous 
and  disgusting  to  the  more  refined  feelings  of  later  times. 
But  if  an  old  tradition  of  the  Parliament  House  of  Edinburgh 
may  be  trusted,  it  was  the  following  anecdote  which  occasioned 
the  disuse  of  the  Dempster's  office. 

It  chanced  at  one  time  that  the  office  of  public  executioner 
was  vacant,  'i  here  was  occasion  for  some  one  to  act  as  Demp- 
ster, and,  considering  the  party  who  generally  held  the  office, 
it  is  not  wonderful  that  a  locum  tenons  was  hard  to  be  found. 
At  length,  one  Hume,  who  had  been  sentenced  to  transporta- 
tion for  an  attempt  to  burn  his  own  house,  was  induced  to 
consent  that  he  would  pronounce  the  doom  on  this  occasion. 
But  when  brought  forth  to  officiate,  instead  of  repeating  the 
doom  to  the  criminal.  Mr.  Hume  addressed  himself  to  their 
lordships  in  a  bitter  complaint  of  the  injustice  of  his  own 
sentence.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  was  interrupted,  and  re- 
minded of  the  purpose  for  which  he  had  come  hither;  "I  ken 
what  ye  want  of  me  weel  eneugh,"  said  the  fellow,  "ye  want 
me  to  be  your  Dempster;  but  I  am  come  to  be  none  of  your 
Deni}»ster,  I  am  come  to  you.  Lord  1" — .  and  you.  Lord  E — , 
to  answer  at  the  bar  of  another  world  for  the  injustice  you 
have  flone  me  in  this."  In  short,  Hume  had  only  made  a  pre- 
text of  complying  with  the  proposal,  in  order  to  have  an  o[)por- 
tunity  of  reviling  the  Judges  to  their  faces,  or  giving  them,  in 
the  phrase  of  hrs  country,  "a  sloan."  He  was  hurried  off 
amid  tlie  laughter  of  the  audience,  but  the  indecorous  scene 
which  had  taken  place  contributed  to  the  abolition  of  the  office 
of  Dempster.  The  sentence  is  now  read  over  by  the  clerk  of 
court,  and  the  formality  of  pronouncing  doom  is  altogether 
omitted. 

Note  XIII.,  p.  292. — John  Duke  of  Abgyle  and  Greenwich 

This  nobleman  was  very  dear  to  his  countrymen,  who  were 
justly  proud  of  his  military  and  political  talents,  and  grateful 


610  XOTES 

for  the  ready  zeal  with  which  he  asserted  the  rights  of  his 
native  country.  This  was  never  more  conspicuous  than  in  the 
matter  of  the  Porteous  ]\lob,  when  the  Ministers  brought  in  a 
violent  and  vindictive  Bill,  for  declaring  the  Lord  Provost  of 
Edinburgh  incapable  of  bearing  any  public  oflSce  in  future,  for 
not  foreseeing  a  disorder  which  no  one  foresaw,  or  interrupting 
the  course  of  a  riot  too  formidable  to  endure  opposition.  The 
same  Bill  made  provision  for  pulling  down  the  city  gates,  and 
abolishing  the  city  guard, — rather  a  Hibernian  mode  of  en- 
abling them  better  to  keep  the  peace  within  burgh  in  future. 

The  Duke  of  Argyle  opposed  this  Bill  as  a  cruel,  unjust, 
and  fanatical  proceeding,  and  an  encroachment  upon  the  privi- 
leges of  the  royal  burghs  of  Scotland,  secured  to  them  by  the 
treaty  of  Union,  "In  all  the  proceedings  of  that  time,"  said 
his  Grace,  "the  nation  of  Scotland  treated  with  the  English 
as  a  free  and  independent  people;  and  as  that  treaty,  my 
Lords,  had  no  other  guarantee  for  the  due  performance  of  its 
articles  but  the  faith  and  honor  of  a  British  Parliament,  it 
would  be  both  unjust  and  ungenerous  should  this  House  agree 
to  any  proceedings  that  have  a  tendency  to  injure  it." 

Lord  Hardwicke,  in  reply  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  seemed 
to  insinuate  that  his  Grace  had  taken  up  the  affair  in  a  party 
point  of  view,  to  which  the  nobleman  replied  in  the  spirited 
language  quoted  in  the  text — Lord  Hardwicke  apologized.  The 
Bill  was.  much  modified,  and  the  clauses  concerning  the  dis- 
mantling the  city,  and  disbanding  the  Guard,  were  departed 
from.  A  fine  of  £2,000  was  imposed  on  the  city  for  the  benefit 
of  Porteous's  widow.  She  was  contented  to  accept  three- 
fourths  of  the  sum,  the  payment  of  which  closed  the  trans- 
action. It  is  remarkable,  that,  in  our  day,  the  ^lagistrates 
of  Edinburgh  have  had  recourse  to  both  those  measures,  held 
in  such  horror  by  their  predecessors,  as  necessary  steps  for  the 
improvement  of  the  city. 

It  may  be  here  noticed,  in.  explanation  of  another  circum- 
stance mentioned  in-  the  text,  that  there  is  a  tradition  in 
Scotland,  that  George  II.,  whose  irascible  temper  is  said  some- 
times to  have  hurried  him  into  expressing  his  displeasure  par 
voie  dii  fait,  offered  to  the  Duke  of  Argyle,  in  angry  audience, 
some  menace  of  this  nature,  on  which  he*  left  the  presence  in 
high  disdain,  and  with  little  ceremony.  Sir  Robert  Walpole, 
having  met  the  Duke-  as  he  retired,  and  learning  the  cause  of 
his  resentment  and  discomposure,  endeavored  to  reconcile  him 
to  what  had  happened  by  saying.  "Such  was  his  Majesty's 
way,  and  that  he  often  took  such  liberties  with  himself  with- 
out meaning  any  harm."  This  did  not  mend  matters  in 
]\rCallummore's  eyes,  who  replied,  in  great  disdain,  '*You  will 
please  to  remember,  Sir  Robert,  the  infinite  distance  there  is 


NOTES  Gil 

betwixt  you  and  mo."  Anotlier  frequent  expression  of  passion 
on  the  part  of  the  same  monarch  is  alluded  to  in  the  old 
Jacobite  song — 

The  fire  shall  get  both  hat  and  wig, 
As  oft  times  they've  got  a'  that. 

Note  XIV.,  p.  473. — Madge  Wildfire 

In  taking  leave  of  the  poor  maniac,  the  author  may  here 
observe,  that  the  first  conception  of  tlie  character,  though  after- 
ward greatly  altered,  uas  taken  from  that  of  a  pcrst)n  calling 
herself,  and  called  by  others.  Feckh'ss  Fannie  (weak  or  feebb- 
Fannie),  who  always  travelled  with  a  small  flock  of  shei-p. 
The  following  account,  furnished  by. the  persevering  kindness 
of  Mr.  Train,  contains  probably  all  that  can  now  be  known  <  f 
her  history,  though  many,  among  whom  is  the  author,  may 
rememlnr  having  heard  of  Feckless  Fannie,  in  the  days  of 
their  youth. 

"Mv  leisure  hours,"  says  Mr.  Train,  "for  some  time  past 
have  been  mostly  spent  in  searching  for  i)articulars  relating 
to  the  maniac  called  Feckless  Fannie,  w'ho  travelled  over  all 
Scotland  and  England,  between  the  years  1707  and  1775,  and 
whose  history  is  altogether  so  like  a  romance,  that  I  have 
been  at  all  possible  pains  to  collect  every  particular  that  can 
be  found   relative  to  her  in  Galloway,,  or  in  Ayrshire. 

"When  Feckless  Fannie  appeared  in  Ayrshire,  for  the  first 
time,  in  the  summer  of  1709,  she  attracted  much  notice,  from 
being  att'-iided  by  twelve  or  thirteen  sheep,  who  seemed  all 
endued  with  faculties  so  much  su|>erior  to  the  ordinary  race 
of  animals  of  the  same  species,  as  to  excite  universal  astonish- 
ment. She  had  for  each  a  different  name,  to  which  it  answered 
when  called  by  its  mistress,  and  would  likewise  obey  in  the 
most  surprising  manner  any  command  she  thought  proper  to 
give.  When  travelling,  she  always  walked  in  front  of  lier 
flock,  and  they  followed  her  closely  behind.  When  she  lay 
down  at  night  in  the  fields,  for  she  would  never  enter  into  a 
house,  they  always  disputed  who  should  lie  next  to  her,  by 
which  means  she  was  k'-j  t  warm,  while  she  lay  in  the  midst 
of  them;  when^she  attempted  to  rise  from  the  ground,  an  old 
ram,  whose  name  was  Charlie,  alwavs  clainu'd  the  sole  right 
of  assisting  her;  [tushing  any  that  stood  in  his  way  asi<le, 
until  he  arrived  right  U-fore  his  mistress;  he  then  bowed  his 
head  nearly  to  the  ground  that  she  might  lay  her  hands  on 
his  horns,  which  were  very  large;  he  then  lift<'d  her  gently 
from  the  ground  by  raising  his  hea<l.  If  she  chanced  to  leave 
her  flock  feeding,  as  soon  as  they  discovered  .she  was  gone,  they 
all  began  to  bleat  most  piteously,  and  would  continue  to  do  so 


612  NOTES 

till  she  returned;  they  would  then  testify  their  joy  by  rubbing 
their  sides  against  her  petticoat,  and  frisking  about. 

"Feckless  Fannie  was  not,  like  most  other  demented  crea- 
tures, fond  of  fine  dress ;  on  her  head  she  wore  an  old  slouched 
hat,  over  her  shoulders  an  old  plaid,  and  carried  always  in  her 
hand  a  shepherd's  crook;  with  any  of  these  articles,  she  in- 
variably declared  she  would  not  part  for  any  consideration 
whatever.  When  she  was  interrogated  why  she  set  so  much 
value  on  things  seemingly  so  insignificant,  she  would  sometimes 
relate  the  history  of  her  misfortune,  which  was  briefly  as 
follows : 

"  'I  am  the  only  daughter  of  a  wealthy  squire  in  the  north 
of  England,  but  I  loved  my  father's  shepherd,  and  that  has 
been  my  ruin;  for  my  father,  fearing  his  family  would  be  dis- 
graced by  such  an  alliance,  in  a  passion  mortally  wounded 
my  lover  with  a  shot  from  a  pistol.  I  arrived  just  in  time  to 
receive  the  last  blessing  of  the  dying  man,  and  to  close  his  eyes 
in  death.  He  bequeathed  me  his  little  all,  but  I  only  accepted 
these  sheep  to  be  my  sole  companions  through  life,  and  this 
hat,  this  plaid,  and  this  crook,  all  of  which  I  will  carry  until 
I  descend  into  the  grave.' 

"This  is  the  substance  of  a  ballad,  eighty-four  lines  of  which 
I  copied  down  lately  from  the  recitation  of  an  old  woman  in 
this  place,  who  says  she  has  seen  it  in  print  with  a  plate  on  the 
title-j)age,  representing  Fannie  with  her  sheep  behind  her.  As 
this  ballad  is  said  to.  have  been  written  by  Lowe,  the  author 
of  Mary's  Dream,  I  am  surprised  that  it  has  not  been  noticed 
by  Cromek,  in  his  Remains  of  Nithsdale  and  Galloway  Song; 
but  he  perhaps  thought  it  unworthy  of  a  place  in  his  collec- 
tion, as  there  is  very  little  merit  in  the  composition;  which 
want  of  room  prevents  me  from  transcribing  at  present.  But 
if  I  thought  you  had  never  seen  it,  I  would  take  an  early 
opportunity  of  doing  so. 

"After  having  made  the  tour  of  Galloway  in  1769,  as  Fannie 
was  wandering  in  the  neighborhood  of  Moffat,  on  her  way  to 
Edinburgh,  where,  I  am  informed,  she  was  likewise  well  known. 
Old  Charlie,  her  favorite  ram,  chanced  to  break  into  a  kale- 
yard, which  the  proprietor  observing,  let  loose  a  mastiff  that 
hunted  the  poor  sheep  to  death.  This  was  a  sad  misfortune ;  it 
seemed  to  renew  all  the  pangs  which  she  formerly  felt  on  the 
death  of  her  lover.  She  would  not  part  from  the  side  of  her 
old  friend  for  several  days,  and  it  was  with  much  difficulty  she 
consented  to  allow  him  to  be  buried;  but,  still  wishing  to  pay 
a  tribute  to  his  memory,  she  covered  his  grave  with  moss,  and 
fenced  it  round  with  osiers,  and  annually  returned  to  the  same 
spot,  and  pulled  the  weeds  from  the  grave  and  repaired  the 
fence.     This  is  altogether  like  a  romance;  but  I  believe  it  is 


NOTES  613 

r.ally  truo  that  she  did  so.  The  grave  of  Charlie  is  still  held 
sacred  even  by  the  schoolboys  of  the  present  day  in  that 
(liiarter.  It  is  now,  perhaps,  the  only  instance  of  the  law  of 
Kenneth  being  attended  to,  which  says,  'The  grave  where  anie 
tliat  is  slaine  lieth  buried,  leave  untilled  for  seven  years. 
■  .  pute  every  grave  holie  so  as  thou  be  well  advised,  that  in 

'  wise  with   thy   feet  thou  tread   upon   it.' 

"Through   the  sturms   of   winter,   as   well   as   in   the  milder 

■ason  of  the  year,  she  continued  her  wandering  course,  nor 
could  she  be  prevented  from  doing  so,  either  by  entreaty  or 
promise  of  reward.  The  late  Dr.  Fullarton  of  Rosemount,  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Ayr,  being  well  acquainted  with  her 
father  when  in  PZngland,  endeavored,  in  a  severe  season,  by 
every  means  in  his  power,  to  detain  her  at  Rosemount  for  a 
few  days  until  the  weather  should  become  more  mild;  but  when 
she  found  herself  rested  a  little,  and  saw  her  sheep  fed,  she 
raised  her  crook,  which  was  tlie  signal  she  always  gave  for  the 
sheep  to  follow  her,  and  off  they  all  marched  together. 

"But  the  hour  of  poor  Fannie's  dissolution  was  now  at  hand, 
and  she  seemed  anxious  to  arrive  at  the  spot  where  she  was  to 
terminate  her  mortal  career.  She  proceeded  to  Glasgow,  and, 
while  passing  through  that  city,  a  crowd  of  idle  boys,  attracted 
by  her  singular  ay)pearance,  together  with  the  novelty  of  seeing 
so  many  she<'p  obeying  her  command,  began  to  torment  her 
with  their  pranks,  till  she  became  so  irritated  that  she  pelted 
them  with  bricks  and  stones,  which  they  returned  in  sucli  a 
manner,  that  she  was  actually  stoned  to  death  between  Glas- 
gow and  Anderston. 

"To  the  real  history  of  this  singular  individual,  credulity  has 
attached  several  sujjerstitious  appendages.  It  is  said,  that  the 
farmer  wlio  was  tlie  cause  of  Charlie's  deatli,  shortly  aft^'rwards 
drowned  himself  in  a  peat-hag;  and  that  the  hand,  with  which 
a  butcher  in  Kilmarnock  struck  one  of  the  other  sheep,  became 
powerless,  and  \\  ithered  to  the  very  bone.  In  the  summer  of 
1709,  when  she  was  passing  by  New  Cumnock,  a  young  man, 
whoso  name  was  Williauj  Forsyth,  son  of  a  farmer  in  the  same 
parish,  plagued  her  so  much  that  she  wished  he  might  never 
see  the  nir)rn;  U[)on  whicii  he  went  home  and  hanged  himself 
in  his  fatlu'r's  l)arn.  And  I  doubt  not  many  such  stories  may 
yet  be  remembered   in  other  parts  where  she  had  been." 

So  far  Mr.  Train.  The  author  can  only  add  to  his  narra- 
tive, that  Feckless  Fannie  and  her  little  flock  were  well  known 
in  the  pastoral  districts.  , 

In  attempting  to  introduce  such  a  character  into  fiction,  the 
autnor  felt  the  risk  of  encountering  a  comparison  with  the 
Maria  of  Sterne;  and.  besides,  the  mechanism  of  the  story 
would  have  been  as  much  retarded  by  Feckless  Fannie's  flock, 


614  NOTES 

as  the  night-march  of  Don  Quixote  was  delayed  by  Sancho's 
tale  of  the  sheep  that  were  ferried  over  the  river. 

The  author  has  only  to  add,  that  notwithstanding  the  precise- 
ness  of  his  friend  Mr.  Train's  statement,  there  may  be  some 
hopes  that  the  outrage  on  Feckless  Fannie  and  her  little  flock 
"WRS  not  carried  to  extremity.  There  is  no  mention  of  any 
trial  on  account  of  it,  which,  had  it  occurred  in  the  manner 
stated,  would  have  certainly  taken  place;  and  the  author  has 
understood  that  it  Avas  on  the  Border  she  Avas  last  seen,  about 
the  skirts  of  the  Cheviot  hills,  but  without  her  little  flock. 

Note  XV.,  p.  500. — Death  of  Fbancis  Goedon 

This  exploit  seems  to  have  been  one  in  which  Patrick  Walker 
prided  himself  not  a  little;  and  there  is  reason  to  fear,  that 
that  excellent  person  would  have  highly  resented  the  attempt 
to  associate  another  with  him,  in  the  slaughter  of  a  King's 
Life-Guardsman.  Indeed,  he  would  have  had  the  more  right 
to  be  offended  at  losing  any  share  of  the  glory,  since  the  party 
against  Gordon  was  already  three  to  one,  besides  having  the 
advantage  of  fire-arms.  The  manner  in  which  he  vindicates 
his  claim  to  the  exploit,  without  committing  himself  by  a 
direct  statement  of  it,  is  not  a  little  amusing.  It  is  as  fol- 
lows:— 

"x  shall  give  a  brief  and  true  account  of  that  man's  death, 
which  I  did  not  design  to  do  while  I  was  upon  the  stage;  I 
resolve,  indeed  (if  it  be  the  Lord's  will),  to  leave  a  more  full 
account  of  that  and  many  other  remarkable  steps  of  the  Lord's 
dispensations  towards  me  through  my  life.  It  was  then  com- 
monly said,  that  Francis  Gordon  was  a  volunteer  out  of  wicked- 
Tiess  of  principles,  and  could  not  stay  with  the  troop,  but  was 
still  raging  and  ranging  to  catch  hiding  suff'ering  people. 
Meldrum  and  Airly's  troops,  lying  at  Lanark  upon  the  first 
day  of  March,  1G82,  Mr.  Gordon  and  another  wicked  comrade, 
with  their  two  servants  and  four  horses,  came  to  Kilcaigow, 
two  miles  from  Lanark,  searching  for  William  Caigow  and 
others,  under  hiding. 

"Mr.  Gordon,  rambling  throw  the  town,  oflfered  to  abuse  the 
women.  At  night,  thej-  came  a  mile  further  to  the  Easter- 
Seat,  to  Robert  Muir's,  he  being  also  under  hiding.  Gordon's 
comrade  and  the  two  servants  went  to  bed,  but  he  could  sleep 
none,  roaring  all  night  for  women.  When  day  came,  he  took 
only  his  sword  in  his  hand,  and  came  to  Moss-platt,  and  some 
new  men  (who  had  been  in  the  fields  all  night)  seeing  him, 
they  fled,  and  he  pursued.  James  Wilson,  Thomas  Young,  and 
myseh,  having  been  in  a  meeting  all  night,  were  lying  down 
in  the  morning.     We  were  alarmed,  thinking  there  were  many 


NOTES  615 

more  than  one:  he  pursued  hard,  and  overtook  us,  Thomas 
Young  said.  'Sir,  what  do  ye  pursue  us  for?'  he  said,  'he  was 
come  to  send  us  to  hell.'  James  Wilson  said,  'that  shall  not 
be,  for  we  will  defend  ourselves.'  He  said,  'that  either  he  or 
we  should  po  to  it  now.'  He  run  his  sword  furiously  throw 
James  Wilson's  coat.  James  fired  upon  him,  but  missed  him. 
All  this  time  he  cried.  Damn  his  soull  He  got  a  shot  in  his 
head  out  of  a  pocket  pistol,  rather  fit  for  diverting  a  boy  than 
killing  such  a  furious,  mad,  brisk  man,  which,  notwithstanding, 
killed  him  dead.  The  foresaid  William  C'aigow  and  Robert 
Muir  came  to  us.  We  searched  him  for  papers,  and  found  a 
long  scroll  of  sufferers'  names,  either  to  kill  or  take.  I  tore 
it  all  in  pieces.  He  had  also  some  Popish  books  and  bonds  of 
money,  with  one  dollar,  which  a  poor  man  took  off  the  ground ; 
all  which  we  put  in  his  pocket  again.  Thus,  he  Avas  four 
miles  from  Lanark,  and  near  a  mile  from  his  comrade,  seeking 
his  own  deatli.  and  got  it.  And  for  as  much  as  we  have  been 
condemned  for  this,  I  could  never  see  how  any  one  could  con- 
demn us  that  allows  of  self-defence,  which  the  laws  both  of 
God  and  Nature  allow  to  every  creature.  For  my  OAvn  part, 
my  heart  never  smote  me  for  this.  When  I  saw  his  blood  run, 
I  wished  that  all  the  blood  of  the  Lord's  stated  and  avowed 
enemies  in  Scotland  had  been  in  his  veins.  Having  such  a 
clear  call  and  opportunity,  I  would  have  rejoiced  to  have  seen 
it  all  gone  out  with  a  gush.  I  have  many  times  wondered  at 
the  greater  part  of  the  indulged,  lukewarm  ministers  and 
professors  in  tiiat  time,  who  made  more  noise  of  murder,  when 
one  of  these  enemies  had  been  killed  even  in  our  own  defence, 
than  of  twenty  of  us  being  murdered  by  them.  None  of  these 
men  present  was  challenged  for  this  but  myself.  Thomas 
Young  thereafter  suffered  at  Machline,  but  was  not  challenged 
for  this:  Robert  Muir  was  banished:  James  Wilson  outlived 
the  persecution:  William  Caigow  died  in  the  Canongate  Tol- 
booth,  in  the  beginning  of  1685.  Mr.  Wodrow  is  misinformed; 
who  says,  that  he  suffered  unto  death." 

Note  XVI.,  p.  518. — Tolung  to  Service  in  Scotland 

In  the  old  days  of  Scotland,  when  persons  of  property  (unless 
they  hapy)ened  to  be  non-jurors)  were  as  regular  as  their  in- 
feriors in  att^'ndance  on  parochial  worship,  tlu-ro  was  a  kind 
of  etiquette,  in  waiting  till  the  jjatron  or  acknowliMlged  great 
man  of  the  parish  should  make  his  appearance.  This  cere- 
monial, was  so  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  a  parish  beadle  in  the 
Isle  of  Bute,  that  the  kirk  bell  being  out  of  order,  he  is  said 
to  have  mounted  the  st<*eple  every  Simday,  to  imitate  with  his 
voice  the  successive  summonses  which  its  mouth  of  metal  used 


616  NOTES 

to  send  forth.  The  first  part  of  this  imitative  harmony  was 
simply  the  repetition  of  the  words  Bell,  hell,  hell,  hell,  two  or 
three  times,  in  a  manner  as  much  resembling  the  sound  as 
throat  of  flesh  could  imitate  throat  of  iron.  Belliim!  helium! 
was  sounded  forth  in  a  more  urgent  manner;  but  he  never 
sent  forth  the  third  and  conclusive  peal,  the  varied  tone  of 
which  is  called  in  Scotland  the  ringing-in,  until  the  two  prin- 
cipal heritors  of  the  parish  approached,  when  the  chime  ran 
thus: — 

Belliim  Bellellum, 

Bernera   and   Knockdow's    coming! 
Belliim  Bellellum, 

Bernera  and   Knockdow's   coming! 

Thereby  intimating,  that  service  was  instantly  to  proceed. 


GLOSSARY 


Abune,  aboon,  above. 

Ac,  one. 

Air,  early. 

Airn,  to  iron. 

Airt.  to  direct. 

AUenarly,  solely. 

Alow,  on  flre. 

Ancr.  anes,  once. 

Anent,  about. 

Anker.  10  wine  gallons. 

Ansars.  helpers. 

Arriage  and  carriage,  plough  and 

cart  service. 
Aught,  eight;   ai/g/i/,  possession. 
Ava.  at  all:   of  aU. 
Awmous.  alms. 
Awmrie,  a  large  cupboard. 

Back-cast,  a  misfortune. 

Back-friend,  abettor. 

Bandolier,  leather  cartridge  belt. 

Bannocks,  flat  round  cakes. 

Bather,  to  tire  by  ceaseless  prat- 
ing. 

Bauson-faced ,  ha\ing  a  white  spot 
on  the  forehead. 

Bawbee,  a  half  penny. 

Baxter,  a  baker. 

Bechounced,  cheated;   deceived. 

Bedral,  sexton. 

Belyve,  directly,  by  and  by. 

Bend-leather ,  thick  sole  leather. 

Benefit  of  clergy,  right  to  claim 
exemption,  as  the  clergy,  from 
the  civil  courts. 

Ben-the-house,  Aside;  into  the 
inner  room. 

Bestial,  cattle. 

Bicker,  a  wooden  bowl  or  dish. 

Bide,  wait;  stay;  bear;  rest  un- 
der. 

Bien,  comfortable. 

Biggonets,  a  linen  cap  worn  by 
certain  nuns  in  Flanders. 

Bike,  a  hive;   a  swarm. 

Bink,  bench;   shelf. 


Birkie,  a  lively  fellow. 
Birth-right,     celebration     on     the 

evening  of  a  royal  birthday. 
Bittock,  a  little  bit. 
Blink,  a  glance. 
Boddle,  one-sixth  of  a  penny. 
Boot-hose,  coarse  blue  hose  worn 

in  place  of  boots. 
Bouking-w  ashing,     great     annual 

bleaching   of   the   family   linen 

in  a  peculiar  lye. 
Bountith,  something  given  as  re- 
ward for  service. 
Bourock,  a  mound;   a'hillock. 
Bowie,  a  milk  pail. 
Brae,  bank;   hill-side. 
Braw,  brave;   fine;   good;  Braws. 

one's  best  clothes. 
Brecham,  collar  of  a  cart  horse. 
Brockit,  cow  with  speckled  face. 
Broggin,  striking,  piercing. 
Brogue,  a  Highland  shoe. 
Broo.    taste    for;     Nae    broo,    no 

favorable  opinion. 
Brose,  oatmeal  over  which  boiling 

water  has  been  poured. 
Brugh  and  land,  town  and  country. 
Bruilzie,  a  fight,  a  broil. 
Brunstane,  brimstone. 
Bullsegg.  gelded  bull. 
Busk,  to  arrange. 
Bye.  besides. 
Byre,  a  cow-house. 

Caird,  a  strolling  tinker. 

Callant,  a  lad. 

Caller,  fresh. 

Cal  liver-men,  men  armed  with 
muskets. 

Canny,  lucky. 

Canty,  lively,  gay. 

Caption,  a  writ  to  imprison  a 
debtor. 

Carcake,  a  small  cake  baked  with 
eggs  and  eaten  on  Shrove  Tues- 
day in  Scotland. 


617 


618 


GLOSSARY 


Carle,  a  fellow. 
Carline,  an  old  woman. 
Carritch,  the  Catechism. 
Cast,  occasional  aid;  a  lift. 
Ca'throw,  broil. 
Cauld-rife,  chilly,  indifferent. 
Cautelous,  cautious. 
C hafts,  jaws. 

Chamber  of  deas,   the  best  bed- 
room. 
Change-house,  a  small  inn. 
Chappit,  struck  (said  of  a  clock). 
Cheverons,  gloves. 
Chield,  a  young  fellow. 
Chop,  a  shop. 
Clachan,  Scotch  village. 
Clavers,  foolish  talk. 
Claw  up  one's  mittens,  give  them 

the  finishing  stroke. 
Cleckit,  hatched. 
Cleek,  to  catch,  seize. 
Cleugh,  a  ravine. 
Close-head,     entrance     to     blind 

alley. 
Clout,  cloth;  Clout  ower  the  crown 

for  wann,  scarf  over  the  head  in 

Spring. 
Clute,  a  hoof;  a  single  beast. 
Cockernonie,  the  knot  of  a  young 

girl's  hair  when  gathered  into  a 

band  or  snood. 
Cod,  a  pillow. 
Couch  a  hogshead,  to  lie  down  to 

sleep. 
Coup,  to  overturn. 
Couthy,  agreeable,  pleasing. 
Cowt,  a  colt. 
Cracks,  gossip. 
Creagh,  stolen  cattle. 
Crewels,    scrofulous   swellings   on 

the  neck. 
Crining,  pining. 
Crook  a  hough,  to  bend  a  joint. 
Cuddle,  a  donkey. 
Cull,  a  fool. 
Cummer,  a  companion. 
Curch,  a  woman's  cap. 
Cutty-quean,  a  worthless  woman. 

Daffing,  foolish  play,  folly. 
Daft,  crazy. 

Daidling,  slow  in  action. 
Daikering,  jogging  along. 
Darg,  a  day's  work. 
Deil  haet,  devil  a  thing. 
Deil's  buckie,  imp  of  Satan. 


Dinnle,  a  thrilling  blow. 

Dirl,  to  tingle;    a  bit  dirt,  a  little 

smarting  knock. 
Dispone,  to  make  over  to  another 

in  legal  form. 
Dit,  to  stop,  close  up. 
Dittay,  indictment. 
Divot,   a  thin,   flat  piece  of  turf 

used  for  covering  cottages. 
Doch   an   dorroch,    a   stirrup-cup, 

parting  cup. 
Doited,  stupid. 
Donnard,  stupid. 

Donnot,  a  good  for  nothing  person. 
Dookit,  ducked. 
Dooms,  utterly. 
Door-cheek,  door-post. 
Douce,  quiet,  respectable. 
Dought,  was  able  to. 
Dour,  stubborn. 
Dow,  to  be  able  to. 
Downa,  unable,  disinclined. 
Dreich,  slow,  leisurely. 
Dribble,  small  quantity. 
Drow,  a  qualm. 
Dry  multure,  a  duty  of  com  paid  a 

miller. 
Duds,     ragged     clothes;      duddy, 

ragged. 
Durk,  Highland  dagger. 
Dyester,  a  dyer. 

Ee,  een,  eye,  eyes. 

Effeir,  to  be  proportional  or  equal 

to. 
Eik,  to  add. 
Elshun,  an  awl. 
Eme,  uncle. 
Eneugh,  enow,  enough. 

Fash,  to  trouble. 

Fasherie,  trouble. 

Fauld,  to  fold. 

Faut,  fault. 

Feckless,  feeble,  weak  in  mind  or 

body.  m 

Fend,  to  provide. 
Fickle,  puzzle,  confuse. 
File,  to  foul,  disorder. 
Fit,  foot. 
Flat,  foolish. 

Flats  and  sharps,  using  the  sword. 
Flee,  a  fly. 
Fleg,  a  fright. 
Fliskmahoy,  a  giddy,  thoughtless 

person. 


GLOSSARY 


619 


Flow-moss,  a  low  lying  piece  of 

watory  land. 
Forancnt.  directly  opposite  to. 
Forhijr.  Ix^idi^. 
Forpils.  fourth  of  a  peck. 
Fou.  full,  drunk. 

Found,  kind  of  small  liand  cannon. 
Fuff.  to  puff. 
Fyke,  to  move  restlessly. 

Gnit-milk.  goat  milk. 

Gaitts.  brats. 

Game  arm.  a  crooked,  lame  arm. 

Gang  in  bye.  to  go  in.side. 

Gar,  to  make. 

Gardyloo    (corruption    of    Gardez 

de  I'eau),  cry  which  servants  in 

the  higher  stories  of  tenements 

give. 
Gare-brained.  hare-brained. 
Gate,  way:   \ae  gale,  no  place. 
Gaunt,  yawn. 
Gausie.  joUy,  fine. 
Gay  sure,  pretty  sure. 
Gear,  property. 
Gee.  Take  the  gee,  become  imman- 

ageable. 
Giff-gaff,  give  and  take. 
Girdles,  griddles. 
Girn.  to  grin. 
Glaiks.  reflected  gleam  or  ray  of 

Ught. 
Glancing-glass.      glass     used     for 

reflecting  the  rays  of  the  sim. 
Glrde.  gied.  the  kite. 
Gug.  alert,  keen. 
6'//j/.  a  moment. 
Glowi-r.  to  stare  harrl. 
Gtrusly.  dreary,  haunted. 
Gouttr.  a  drop. 
Gouan.  a  dog  daisy. 
Graith.  apparatus  of  any  kind. 
Grat.  wept. 
Gree,  reputation. 

Grceshitch.  turf  tire  without  flame. 
Greet,  to  cry. 
Guide,  to  treat. 
Gulley.  a  large  knife 
G utter -blin>d.  on<;  meanly  lx)m. 
Gybe,  a  pa.ss. 
Gyte,   a   young    boy;     clean  gyte, 

quite  crazy. 

Hadden.  held. 

Haffets,  temples. 

Hafflins,  entering  the  teens. 


JIaft,  a  dwelling;  a  handle. 

Hagbuts  of  found,  kind  of  hand 
cannon. 

Ilallan.  a  partition  in  a  Scotch 
cottage. 

JIand-waled,  remarkable,  notori- 
ous. 

Harle.  to  trail,  to  drag. 

Haud,  hold. 

Havings,  manners. 

Hawkit,  white-faced. 

Heal,  health;  healsome,  whole- 
some. 

Hellicat,  wild,  desperate. 

Hempie,  a  rogue. 

Hou\  a  hollow. 

Howdie,  a  midwife. 

Howjf,  a  haunt. 

Howl,  an  owl. 

Hussy,  needle-case. 

Ilk,  each,  every;  of  that  ilk,  of  the 
same — used  to  denote  that  the 
title  of  anyone  to  whom  it  is 
applied  is  the  same  as  his  sur- 
name, as  "Grant  of  Grant." 

In  bye,  inside  the  house. 

Ingan,  an  onion. 

Ingine.  ingenuity. 

Input,  share,  contribution. 

Jagg,  a  prick. 
J  ark.  a  seal. 
Jaud.  a  jade. 
Jink,  a  trick. 
Jo,  a  swet'theart. 
Jow,  to  tell. 

Kail,  kale,  cabbage,  greens. 
Kamf,  comb. 
Keely-rine,  a  lead  j)enril. 
Kensprckle,     distinguished     from 

others  by  s<jme  oddity. 
Kettle,  ve.xations  implying  the  idea 

of  danger. 
Kirkit.  first  appearance  at  church 

after  marriage. 
Kye.  cows. 
Kyihe,  to  s(H*m  or  appear. 

Lniking.  larking. 

Lamour,  amlxT. 

Landward,  inland,  country-bred. 

Lnnr.  alone. 

Lauch.  low. 

LarnKk,  a  lark. 


620 


GLOSSARY 


Lawing,  the  account. 

Lee,  a  lie. 

Lift,  the  sky. 

Limmer,     scoundrel,     woman    of 

loose  manners. 
Lippen,  to  rely  upon. 
Lock,  perqmsite  of  a  servant  in  a 

mill,  usually  a  handfvil  or  two 

of  meal. 
Loof,  the  palm  of  the  hand. 
Lound,     quiet;       lounder,      more 

quiet. 
Lounder,  to  beat  severely. 
Low,  a  flame. 
Luckie,  a  title  given  to  an  old 

woman. 
Luckie  Dad,  grandfather. 
Lug,  the  ear. 
Lum-head,  the  chimney-top. 

Magg     (coals),     to     give     short 

quantity. 
Maggot,  whim,  crotchet. 
Mail,  to  spot,  discolor. 
Mail-duties,  rent. 
Maistry,  mastery,  power. 
Manty,  mantle. 

Mashackered,  clumsily  cut,  hacked. 
Maukin,  a  hare. 
Maun,  must. 
Maundering,  muttering. 
Maut,  malt. 
Meal-ark,  meal-chest. 
Alell,  to  meddle. 
Mensefu',  becoming  mannerly. 
Messan,  lap  dog. 
Midden,  dunghiU. 
Minnie,  mamma. 
Misguggle,  to  disfigure;    mangled 

with  a  knife. 
Miss  Katies,  mosquitoes. 
Mister,  want. 
Mixen,  heap  of  refuse. 
Moss-Hag,  pit  in  peat  moor. 
Muckle,  much. 
Muir-ill,   a  disease  among  black 

cattle. 
Muir-poots,  5'oung  grouse. 
Mull,  a  snuS  box. 
Mutch,  a  woman's  cap. 
Mutchkin,  a  measure  containing  a 

I  pint. 

Neger,  nigger. 

Nick  Moll  Blood,   to  cheat  the 
gallows. 


Niffering,    haggling;     Niffer,    an 

exchange. 
Noited,  rapped,  struck  smartly. 
Noop,  the  bone  at  the  elbow  joint. 
Nowte,  cattle. 


Oe,  a  grandchild. 
Ouding,  a  heavy  fall . 
Out-bye,   out   of  doors; 

without. 
Over-bye,  over  the  way. 
Owre-lay,  a  cravat. 


beyond. 


Pad,  to  travel  on  foot;  on  the  pad, 
on  the  road  as  a  robber. 

Padder,  a  highwayman  who  robs 
on  foot. 

Paik,  a  blow. 

Panel,  prisoner  at  the  bar. 

Parochine,  parish. 

Parsonage,  a  contribution  for  the 
support  of  a  parson. 

Passements,  strips  of  lace  or  silk 
sewed  on  clothes. 

Peat,  proud;  a  person  of  intoler- 
able pride. 

Peat-hag,  a  pit  in  peat  moor. 

Peeble,  to  pelt  with  stones. 

Pengun,  Cracking  like  a  pengun, 
gabbling  like  a  penguin. 

Penny-stane,  a  flat  stone  used  in- 
stead of  a  quoit. 

Pettle,  to  feed  delicately. 

Philabeg,  tartan  kilt  of  the 
Highlanders. 

Pibroch,  a  bag-pipe  tune,  usually 
for  the  calling  of  a  clan. 

Pickle  in  thine  ain  poke-nook,  de- 
pend on  one's  own  exertions. 

Pigg,  an  earth  en- ware  vessel, 
pitcher. 

Pike,  to  pick. 

Piot,  a  mag-pie;  lad  in  the  pioted 
coat,  executioner  in  black  and 
silver  livery. 

Pirn,  a  reel. 

Plack,  a  coin  worth  four  pennies. 

Planked  a  chury,  concealed  a 
knife. 

Ploy,  sport. 

Pock,  bag. 

Poco-curante,  an  easy-going  per- 
son. 

Policy,  a  gentleman's  estate. 

Poll-rumptious,  vmruly. 

Polonie,  dress  for  young  boys. 


GLOSSARY 


G21 


Pontages,  bridge-tolls. 

Poppling,  purling,  rippling 

Pnw.  the  head. 

Prigq.  to  plead,  beg  for. 

Propini',  a  gift. 

Purn.  a  bum,  stream. 

Pykit,  picked,  pilfered. 

Quran,  a  young  woman. 
Qury.  a  cow. 
i^untha.  forsooth. 

Ranncl-trres.  a  beam  across  a  fire- 
place on  which  to  suspend  a  pot. 

Rap.  to  swear  falsely.  • 

Ratt-rhyme,  verse  repeated  by 
rote. 

Raiing.  st retelling. 

Reckan,  mi.serable. 

Red,  to  coimsel. 

Redargue,  to  accuse. 

Redding,  putting  in  order. 

Reek,  smoke. 

Riding  of  the  Scots'  Parliament, 
procession  of  ofiRcials  on  way  to 
open  new  .session. 

Rinthereout,  one  who  roams  the 
country. 

Ripe,  to  search. 

Rokelay.  a  short  cloak. 

Rouping.  auctioning  off. 

R(rupil.  hoarse. 

Rowing,  rolling. 

Rue.  rep€'nt ;  Taen  the  rue,  re- 
pented of. 

Ruffler,  a  ruCBan. 

Sackless.  innocent. 

Sain,  to  bless. 

Sark.  a  sliirt. 

Saul,  salt. 

Scari,  a  scratch. 

Scomftsh,  to  stifle. 

Scouping,  skipping. 

Scour,  to  thrust. 

Scraughin.  sr-reaming. 

Screrd,  a  nift-ss. 

Scud,  a  .sudflen  shower. 

iSrt7.  to  strain. 

Seiping,  soaking. 

Sell  (i   ye,  yourself. 

Shankit,  handlcfl. 

Silly  health,  poor  health. 

Skaith,    injury;     skaithless,    imin- 

jured. 
Skeely,  skilful,  dear. 


Skrlp.  to  flog. 

Skin  and  birn,  altogether. 

Skirling,  shrieking. 

Skulduddery,  obscenity,  indecency. 

Slake,  a  smear. 

Sloan,  abuse. 

Smacked  calf -skin,  taken  a  false 

oath. 
Snap,  hurried  meal. 
Snapper,  blunder.  * 

Snog  and  snod,  neat  and  trim. 
Snotter  and  snivel,  to  blubber  and 

s-nufBe. 
Sorted,  looked  after. 
Sough,  to  sigh. 
Sousy,  comfortable  looking. 
Souther,  to  solder. 
Soucns,  sour  gruel. 
Spacing,  telling  fortunes. 
Speer,  to  inquire. 
Spiel,  to  climb. 
Spleuchan,    a    Highland    tobacco 

pouch. 
Staig,  unbroken  colt. 
Stanchell,  iron  window  bar. 
Sted,  to  place,  fix. 
Stern,  a  star. 
Slifler,  the  gallows. 
Slirk,  a  steer. 
Stoit,  to  stagger. 

Stoup,  a  wooden  drinking  vessel. 
Stou\  to  crop,  cut  off. 
Slraughted,  stretched. 
Sture,  rough,  hardy. 
Sunkets,  food. 
Swither,  .suspense. 
Synd,  to  rinse. 
Syne,  .since,  afterwards. 
Syne  as  sune,  late  as  soon. 

Toe,  the  one. 

Tailzie,  entail. 

Tait,  small  amount. 

Tane,  "one"  when  preceded  by 
"the." 

Tap:  Tak  my  tap  in  my  lap,  take 
one's  baggage  and  set  off  hasti- 
ly. 

Tape  nut,  to  make  a  little  go  a 
long  way. 

Tawpie,  a  .simph*,  f(K)lislj  girl. 

Tawse,  a  strap  cut  into  narrow 
thongs  for  whipping  boys. 

Tnnd,  tithe. 

Tent.  care. 

Thole,  to  endure. 


622 


GLOSSARY 


Thrawit,  ill-tempered. 

Threshie-coat,  old  working  coat. 

Tight,  trim,  neat. 

Till,  coax,  entice. 

Tint,  lost. 

Tocher,  dowry. 

Tod,  fox. 

Tolbooth,  jail. 

Toom,  to  empty. 

Touk,  tuck,  beat. 

Tow,  rope. 

Town,  farm-house  without  build- 

mgs. 
Toy,  woman's  cap. 
Traik,  to  loiter  after. 
Trow,  to  believe. 
Trowling,  rolling. 
Tuilzies,  squabbles;   skirmishes. 
Twal,  twelve. 
Tyne,  to  lose. 

Ultroneous,  voluntarJ^ 
Umquhile,  late  deceased. 
Uncanny,  mischievous. 
Unchancy,  dangerous. 
Unco' ,  strange;   unusual. 
Up-yang,    ascent;     dreigh   in   the 

up-gang,  slow  in  ascending. 
Upsides  with,  quits  ^Nith. 
Usquebaugh,  whiskey. 

Vicarage,  tithes. 

Wa',  a  wall. 

Wad,  a  bet. 

Wad,  would. 

Wadset,  mortgage. 

Waff,  whisk ;   sudden  puflf 

Wagging,  dangUng. 

Waiters,  keepers  of  the  gates  of 

Edinboro. 
Waled,  selected;  chosen. 


Waliy-Draigle,  feeble;  ill-grown 
creature. 

Warn  pishing,  brandishing. 

Wan  out,  got  out. 

Wanler,  wanting  a  wife. 

Wan-thricen,  poorly  thriving. 

Ware,  to  expend. 

Wark,  work. 

Warsle,  to  wrestle. 

Wat,  wet;  Wat  finger,  with  little 
efifort. 

Wauff,  a  passing  glance. 

Waur,  worse;   waur.  Spring. 

Wean,  child. 

Weasand,  wind-pipe. 

Webster,  weaver. 

Well-to-pass,  well-to-do. 

Whaup  in  the  rape,  the  trick. 

Wheen,  many. 

Whiles,  sometimes. 

Whilly-wha,  whilly-haw,  to  cajole. 

Whin,  gorse. 

Whirry-ing,  hurrying. 

Whister-poop,  smart  blow,  espe- 
cially on  the  ear. 

Whittle,  a  large  knife. 

Wight,  brave,  strong. 

Willyard,  wild,  wilful. 

Wimple,  a  trick,  deceitful  turn. 

Woodie,  a  halter  for  hanging 
criminals. 

Worrie-cow,  scare-crow. 

Worset,  worsted. 

Wud,  mad;   violent. 

Wuzzent,  miserable;   shriveled. 

Wyte,  to  blame. 

Ycald,  cow  whose  milk  has  dried 

up. 
Yerl,  earl. 
Yill,  ale. 
Yont,  clear;   away. 


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